


All roads lead to you and I

by EnlacingLines



Series: All roads series [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cute, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Canon, So many tropes, Tropes, how many tropes can you list
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23533270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnlacingLines/pseuds/EnlacingLines
Summary: “Damn you, Sylvain,” he mutters tipping his head back, for if there was one thing he could do to meddle with this trip, one thing he could orchestrate that would seem perfectly reasonable and even sensible that would not alert the King of anything amiss, it would be this:To send Ashe with him.Felix is assigned the worst travelling companion he could think of: Ashe, the person he's been pining after for years. But it's fine. He has this under control.Or so he thinks, anyway.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Series: All roads series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845169
Comments: 45
Kudos: 157





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has become my distraction piece for lockdown. It can be summarised as: Ashe is not subtle, Felix is in a pine forest so high his tiny ass can't see anything, Ingrid and Sylvain are tired. 
> 
> So, please have a trope filled, eventually happy ending for my favourite rare pair. 
> 
> I must confess, I couldn't find any information on how long it takes to travel between places in this game so...please grant me a little bit of artistic license. 
> 
> Valania, you are truly an amazing friend and beta. Thank you for looking at this, and cheering me on as I write it. 
> 
> Enjoy reading!

Felix has never regretted saving someone’s life before, but there’s a first time for everything. 

He hadn’t thought when he’d been returning to the Capital and seen a band of thieves pummeling someone into the dirt. He’d unsheathed his sword, fought off four barely competent men and handed them, somewhat worse for wear, to the Kingdom Knights. 

And that was that. A little over a moon ago, a forgotten incident he’d made reference to as a footnote in his travel report, which he now slams onto the King’s desk. For emphasis, he jabs the line three times. 

“See? Stopped bandits from killing a man, handed over to guard, returned with message to—” 

“Felix,” Dimitri says, in a tone that clearly states this conversation is exhausting, which is unfair seeing as he isn’t the one affected by the outcome. 

“I put it in writing,” Felix repeats stubbornly. 

“You neglected to mention he was a minor lord of Brigid,” Dimitri says slowly, and Felix shrugs. 

“I didn’t have time to ask, what with him being half unconscious at the time,” he says. 

Dimitri stares at him, the silence between them stretching until it’s too much, and Felix growls before pushing away from the desk. He’d been vaguely aware of Petra’s visit, but as he’d been on another task, it had slipped his mind. He’d had no inkling this person was part of the visiting royal retine. 

“I’m terrible at diplomacy. This is a bad idea,” he says, and Dimitri sits back in his chair. 

“It’s not a diplomatic mission. You’ve been invited as a guest. They’re stationed in Charon territory for now, so you don’t even have to leave Faerghus. It’s a thank you celebration, Petra sent her regards personally,” he says and Felix grimaces. 

“I also do not like parties. And you told me to refuse would be undiplomatic, so make up your mind,” he says, and Dimitri tips his head back. 

“It would be rude, Felix. But why are you so opposed to this? It’s a few days of celebration, securing ties we already have with people who know you and how you are. There’s very little you could do to make relationships worse. Why are you so adamant to stay behind?” Dimitri asks. 

Felix pauses before answering the question. He can’t say he has a precise wording for his reasoning, only that he’s trying to decide. On what, he cannot tell. But it’s a growing sensation over the last year, a prickling under his skin that started on occasion and grew into something all consuming, a hair shirt on his existence. 

But going to a party in another territory is certainly not going to help matters. 

“I have other responsibilities,” he says instead, crossing his arms. 

“I relinquish you of them,” Dimitri says and Felix clenches his jaw. Damn King. 

“My lands need me,” he says, and Dimitri shakes his head. 

“Your uncle is perfectly capable of manning Fraldarius territory for a short while, and Sylvain will be nearby should anything occur,” Dimitri says, the softening on ‘Sylvain’ audible. 

Felix tries not to screw up his face in mild disgust. He probably doesn’t succeed by the look on Dimitri’s face. 

“Unless you have a specific reason not to, you will be going, though I’d prefer not to order you. And before you ask, you won’t be going alone, of course.” 

He’s not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. Time has made him soft; he now much prefers the company of others he’s familiar with when travelling. Only those he truly knows, though; strangers, officials, and anyone he doesn’t particularly trust with his back still put him on edge. But he will admit, his friends do make any trips better. 

Or, most of them do. Sylvain, for all his annoyances, is his preferred travelling companion, just as they’ve known each other for so many years they understand how to seamlessly work around one another. But Dimitri mentioned he’d be able to look out for his territory, so it isn’t him. 

Felix resigns himself; he’ll find out eventually. 

“Fine. I need to return to home to arrange things,” he says, and Dimitri nods, shoulders dropping with a satisfied air. 

“Of course. You will depart at the end of the moon,” he says, with an air which states the conversation is now over. 

So Felix stands there, not leaving. He goes as long as he can without blinking until Dimitri becomes clearly uncomfortable, then spins and leaves with no further comment, smiling a little to himself. 

Sure, he’s the King, and their relationship is better than ever. But he’s not going to resist the urge to mess with Dimitri. 

* * *

“I wish I was going. I can’t believe they’re throwing a party in your honor!” 

Felix rolls his eyes but grins as Sylvain sips the last of his wine. The late afternoon sun spills onto the table, the day beginning to cool. It is never particularly warm at this end of the world, but summer at least gives some respite to the bitterness. 

“You, of all people. Seriously, the mind boggles,” he says, and Felix swipes at the cup, Sylvain managing to move just in time. “Now, now, mind those manners, what will the delegates think? So, you’re setting off tomorrow?” Sylvain asks. 

Felix nods. “Best to leave early. Ingrid and Dorothea are already there,” Felix says. 

With no claim left to the Charon lands, Ingrid has been slowly administering leadership, and successfully. Felix feels almost proud of her, and he knows she’s glad with how matters are progressing. Focusing on rebuilding the land after the war has been everyone’s priority, and not an easy task, but reports state that Charon and Galatea are prospering well under her guidance. 

Dorothea and Petra still remain in touch, and she’d jumped at the chance to see her friend again; Ingrid has been essentially aiding with Petra’s travel through Fodlan, and now hosting her final stay before she returns. Considering Dorothea and Ingrid announced their engagement only three moons ago, it’s also been an excuse for Dorothea to celebrate with her friend. 

“Urg,” he mutters to himself, but Sylvain catches it, looking at him with a curious expression. 

“Ingrid and Dorothea,” he says, and no more words are needed, for Sylvain laughs. 

“They might have calmed down now,” he says. 

“By the goddess I hope so, I never want to see Ingrid kiss like that again,” he says, and Sylvain doubles over as wine almost shoots out of his nose. 

Felix grins as Sylvain holds his nose and whines in pain, yet something settles, heavy and pulling into his chest, threatening to fold him over in his want to suppress it. Instead he crosses his arms over his middle as Sylvain coughs, amusement gone. 

They have others, his friends. Their loves are bold and quiet, but so enduring and strong Felix at times finds it difficult to be around. He doesn’t understand it, refuses to believe he’s lacking, as his own emotions do not strike in the same way. But he cannot deny that it times it aches, to see that ease by which they fold their lives alongside another, and exist in companioned ease. 

“Felix? You okay?” 

“Of course. Clean up that wine, I don’t want it on my table after it’s been through your nose,” he says, and Sylvain just shakes his head but compiles. 

“I guess that means I should take my leave,” he says, dramatically and Felix sighs, standing also. 

As soon as he does, he’s pulled into Sylvain’s arms and really, by this point, Felix should know when one of his hugs is coming. He’s definitely becoming soft. 

“Alright, let go,” he says, even though he actually wouldn’t mind the embrace lasting, and Sylvain chuckles as he pulls back. 

“I do wish I was coming with you, if only to see your face when they celebrate their new hero. But seriously, try and have fun. It may surprise you,” he says. 

Felix stills, for there is a specific tone to that statement; the twist of his head, the way his eyes don’t quite meet Felix’s, which set off alarm bells. 

“What? What have you done?” he asks, and Sylvain holds up his hands, but Felix knows him well enough to see the flash of surreptitiousness cross his face. 

“Nothing, what could I have done? I just think you should look on the bright side, Felix!” Sylvain says, and Felix closes his eyes for a second, cursing Sylvain and his secretive nature. 

He could have done something, although Felix agrees to himself that even if he had, it’s mostly likely minimal. Although Dimitri is hideously weak to the whims and wants of his boyfriend, he wouldn’t do anything so outlandishly stupid as to potentially damange relationships. 

But even so, it is a worry. 

“Return safely,” Felix says and he sees Sylvain to the door. 

“I’ll be fine, there’s been no bandits on the roads in months. Peace may finally have come, for now,” he says, and Felix nods, slightly distracted until Sylvain places a hand on his shoulder. 

“You know that’s partly due to you, right? Your choices are making a huge difference to our people. Don’t forget that,” Sylvain says once Felix meets his eyes. 

His throat closes at his friend’s declaration, so freely given and honest. Sylvain has become like that now in the almost three years since victory. Honest, free, able to say his own thoughts. It’s amazing to see how far he’s come, how much he’s now able to be himself. 

Felix nods, and then with one more hug, Sylvain is off towards the stables, leaving Felix in the entryway. He turns back, the hallways seeming to expand in the sudden quiet without his best friend. It’s not that late, but still he retires shortly after; back to his rooms, the quiet following with every step. 

  
  


* * *

In waking, that strange haunting feeling of silence still surrounds him. The house is too large for him. It’s most certainly always been so, but now with just Felix there, the solitary Duke overseeing, it feels larger than it ever seemed as a child. Even when the hollowness seeped in after Glenn’s death, there were always meetings, gathering and discussions. During the war, it had been both a haven and an operational hub. Now, however, Felix spends much of his time moving around and escaping the memories of this place. 

The sad ones overcome the joy. His mother’s grave, the visits to which seemed so frequent in his childhood. The hours spent in Glenn’s room after his passing, his father not being able to stand moving his belongings for almost a year. The days listening to Dimitri take up his father’s time and energy, the arguments they had before he entered the officers academy. Years of generally feeling the need to run away and escape to a place of comfort, yet not knowing where to find it, as his home did not feel like a home. 

But now this place is his, so he tries to dig deep and find those scattered happy moments. 

He has one clear memory of his mother before the sickness took her in the winter when he was five. She’s racing him up the stairs towards the roof; he’s winning but knows with the foresight of adulthood she is simply watching from behind, ready to catch him should he tumble back. 

He recalls cheering, arms raised in bright sunlight as he reaches the top first, her laugh echoing even now through the years. She scoops him up, and his victory is spent leaning in her arms over the rail; the summer morning light is almost blinding as it shows him the entryway to the manor, the horizon seeming endless with possibility. If he can win this race, he can do anything. 

Now, he stands looking out, the view not as grand as it seemed to small eyes. He has travelled the length of this country and further in his years, has seen more than he could have believed or wanted when he used to beg to be allowed to peer over the balcony. Still stuck in the past as his hands grip the cool railing, he smiles slightly, recalling how it was always his mother who allowed him here. That, or Glenn sneaking him up after her death, his father stating he was too small. 

His favourite place, somewhere that was both forbidden and therefore exciting, and yet one that was so freeing. The top of the world, the highest point in his home. 

It still is his favourite place, if he admits it to himself. He likes the way it seems open and apart from the rest of the house, gives him space from that echoing feeling. Here, he can see everyday activities occurring; the stables being mucked out, guards in their morning exercises and if he squints, people on their way to the market. There are birds in the trees, the sound of the wind rushing through the foliage. It’s the world, and it’s real, not a frozen and dusty place. 

It’s also why he sees the rider’s approach. Felix blinks, surprised when a sole person in Kingdom colours makes their way towards his estate. They aren’t rushing, so his pulse does not spike, but them being alone is strange. Normally, anyone on urgent business from the Crown would arrive in a group of at least four, so while there is no apparent emergency, it is odd. Felix isn’t expecting anyone. 

He watches, gripping onto the railing and peering out. They are hailed at the entrance, but after a short conversation allowed passage through, which is, again, a surprise. Felix trusts his men well; they would not have let someone pass so swiftly if it were not someone they believed to be earnest. He also strangely recognises them. Which is impossible seeing as they are still so far away he cannot see any features, but there is a nagging sense in his mind that he knows them. 

So he keeps looking, almost craning over the balcony to gain information. Perhaps it’s the riding style? Capable, and without hesitancy, yet not someone who favours horses. They have an air of confidence though, as if they have complete awareness of what they are doing and why, even if their method isn’t favored. 

Felix definitely knows someone like that, he thinks. Their approach is still leisurely, but he thinks they are around his stature, and as he peers down he sees a bow strapped to the back of the horse, the strap of a quiver across the chest so—

“Fuck,” Felix hisses, letting go of the railing and retreating backwards so swiftly he hits the wall in what feels like a few strides. From this distance he can no longer see the rider, but his heart is still beating double-time, the way his hands shake and his head swims akin to as if he has just developed a fear of heights. He grips the wall. He doesn’t want to move, or leave this place of solitude and safety. 

“Damn you, Sylvain,” he mutters tipping his head back, for if there was one thing he could do to meddle with this trip, one thing he could orchestrate that would seem perfectly reasonable and even sensible that would not alert the King of anything amiss, it would be this: 

To send Ashe with him. 

Felix had assumed that with Ingrid and Dorothea already in Charon, that would be his aforementioned company. But now he recalls Dimitri had said ‘you won’t be going alone’ which would include a travel companion. And, there Sylvain had pounced, for this reeks of his best friend. As it wouldn’t be the first time it had happened. 

Felix knows he cannot stay up here; he slowly peels himself off the wall and is exceptionally grateful no one has seen this loss of sense. Really, he should be over this, it’s a ridiculous notion that should have fled with time and growth. He can’t believe Sylvain had managed to weasel this information out of him so long ago. 

It was mid war. Back when every fight felt like the last, every second borrowed time. Between skirmishes, Sylvain had managed to badger him into sharing a bottle of what he could generously describe as moonshine, which to this day he doesn't know how Sylvain got hold of. Felix had not been in a good place at the time, if such a thing were possible. But one sip after another, the world had blurred and blended into a place where trivial things gained a rather heightened level of importance. 

Sylvain had started it. Confessed his feelings for Dimitri, and Felix recalls choking on the burning liquid before asking for another, as he needed to be completely off his face to deal with this confession. But of course, it’s one trade for another. Felix had laid face-first in a pile of leaves and moaned about having his own set of mortifying feelings. 

He thinks it began when they started to speak more frequently. Felix would never have thought he’d get on with someone like Ashe, his personality and beliefs too different from Felix’s own. And yet, with time came understanding and more than that, connection. Felix genuinely started to enjoy their time spent together, whether in chores, studying, or just friendly silence. He read more books, did strangely more studying, and ultimately felt calmer in Ashe’s presence. 

When it developed into more, he doesn’t know, but he realised in those five years they all scattered across the country. He’d find himself wondering, even worrying for Ashe with no news nor way to contact him, and the absolute relief he felt on seeing him alive and well again sent him into a panic for days. 

Sylvain is, to this day, the only one who knows, although for some reason Felix thinks Annette does too. She’s never mentioned it, but she constantly asks if Felix has heard from Ashe, suggests inviting him to visit, which Felix always brushes off. 

He doesn’t know what to do with these apparently persistent feelings. Sylvain had urged him once the war ended to confess, and a few times, he’d tried. Well, _aimed_ to try but it never came out. He also isn’t convinced Ashe has any feelings for him; there’s no sign he values Felix as any more than a friend, and a distant one at that. So there doesn’t seem a point in trying. 

That thought isn’t a comfort when a messenger informs him of their guest waiting in the parlour, and Felix has to exhale while staring at a wall to get himself under control. He therefore gives ample time, with the break and with his perfectly measured stride, to make it to the parlour in a measured state. 

Except when he gets there, he hovers, outside. Like a coward. Felix wants to shake himself; he’s twenty-five years old but behaving like he’s fifteen—it’s utterly ridiculous. But he does stay a second just to look. Ashe stands with his back to him, decked out in Kingdom colours which makes his breath stop for one moment. He’s never found the concept of Knights attractive but Ashe does look good in his regalia; yet it’s more than that. He himself suits it. Ashe always wanted to be a knight, and he’s achieved and lives that dream. 

Felix’s stomach turns at the thought. He doesn’t know how that must feel. His dreams and aims were shattered long ago, and since then, it’s been a mix of just getting through or jumping between duty and the needs of the people. He hasn’t had a drive in a long time. Doesn’t know how to find one, or if he’s even capable of that. 

The turn of his thoughts though gives him the ability to brush the crush away. He steps forward into the room, clearing his throat as he does. Ashe turns and smiles, so wide and bright as he always did in their academy days that Felix cannot help the own upturn of his lips. 

“Felix, it’s so good to see you again. I hope I didn’t arrive too early?” he says, meeting him in the centre of the room. Felix is drawn to his eyes immediately. 

No one quite has eyes like Ashe does, the colour a vivid green of all things, and Felix hates that he romanticises someone's eyes; it’s too cliche and ridiculous. But they remind him of life; that colour which has been missing from the world torn apart by war and famine, a colour from a person he’s missed many times. 

He once again, wants to shake himself, but manages to pull through. 

“No, it’s fine. I wasn’t expecting you though, or you would have had more of a welcome,” Felix says a little apologetically, and Ashe blinks. 

“Wait, you didn’t know?” Ashe says, stepping back with a worried look. Felix folds his arms over his chest. 

“There was mention of someone accompanying me a while ago, but no other news. I’d assumed it was just Ingrid and Dorothea meeting me at the other end,” he says. 

“O-oh. I’m so sorry, I’ve been working to set up a school nearby with Mercedes, so it seemed convenient. Plus I’d love to see Petra again, it’s been far too long,” he says, yet even his smile can’t distract Felix from the new information. 

Nearby. He’s been nearby working on something for a while and hasn't mentioned it. Of course, Felix has been up and down the country and in the capital for some time, but he’s been in this house for the last two weeks. And Ashe hadn’t contacted him. 

_You’re a fool with this fanciful crush_ , his mind rebukes him, and this time, he cannot help but agree. It is another tally in his mental checklist of logic which states Ashe has no feelings for him. He needs to get past this. It’s been years, and yet he still cannot learn. His scolding to others of letting go of the past is a mockery of his present self, who is still hung up on someone he fell for in his school days. 

If this were anyone else, he’d advise them to give it up. To be strong, to move on, to forget. So that’s what he needs to do, starting now. Only it’s made that much more difficult as he’ll have to spend the next few weeks in close proximity with Ashe, including the travel time when it will just be them and an escort. 

“I don’t know why the message didn’t get through to you,” Ashe is saying as he tunes back in and Felix scoffs. 

“I can guess,” he mutters, knowing he is absolutely going to make a certain Margave’s life hell when this is all over. 

“What was that?” Ashe says, and Felix drops his arms with a sigh. 

“It doesn’t matter, I have our travel plans and had aimed to begin within the hour. Are you happy to set off again, or do you need more time?” he asks and Ashe jumps, a frown on his face, but it clears swiftly. 

“O-oh of course, I’m not tired at all. Whenever suits you,” he says, and Felix hates how happiness radiating from him is both uplifting and crushing. 

So instead he nods. “I have my final preparations to sort out, but I’ll ask for refreshments while you wait,” he says. 

“Felix, that’s unnecessary—” Ashe begins, but Felix shakes his head

“You may as well rest while you can. I’ll be back soon,” he says, and leaves the room before Ashe can start up his protests once more. 

It’s probably rude and definitely cowardly, but Felix busies himself best he can with gathering all the remaining necessities for the journey, trying to push past the uncomfortable surge of feelings which bubble up intermittently. It’s going to make the trip awkward and strained, when it should be just an opportunity for old comrades to catch up. 

He stops, staring out of the window of his room for the final time. He isn’t going to miss this place, never has, but the manor does contain a solace from the outside world. Complex emotions have always floored him, and he wishes he could remove himself from everything entirely. 

With a spike of as much determination as he can muster, Felix collects his belongings and descends. 

He can do this. He can survive a trip with the person he’s been pining after for years, go to a party thrown in his honour, and spend time with said person and his newly engaged, disgustingly in love best friend and her fiance. 

He can do this. He hopes, anyway. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What?” he says, and Ashe tips his head, frowning. 
> 
> “That’s your favourite tea, right?” Ashe says, and Felix swallows, nodding unsure what to do now. 
> 
> It’s such an insignificant piece of information, but it’s not as if it’s a secret. Several people know his tea preference but because Ashe does, he feels as if it’s monumental, a sign from above—
> 
> And he’s an absolute idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone supporting this story! You are wonderful. 
> 
> Here we are with chapter 2, and time to start counting the tropes I've thrown in (did I mention how self indulgent this is? oops).
> 
> Valania, my wonderful beta, thank you so much! Your comments on this chapter were priceless. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading!

Felix, by now, is used to travelling. He’s spent many a year traversing his way across the country; in the time of war at a frantic, uncomfortable pace, sleeping where he fell and taking watches. In the past few years, it’s calmed. Although, with the restoration and the nature of civil disruption, his travels have not always been pleasant, Felix likes to think he is an expert at dealing with this type of movement. 

So why is this trip proving difficult? 

He knows the answer, but he needs to stop that line of thinking, so he’s refusing to even contemplate it. He sits at the inn on a back table, sipping spiced ale and allowing the sounds of normal life soothe him as best they can. The two Fraldarius soldiers who have accompanied them are playing some sort of a card game on the other side of the room, occasional laughter sounding. He’s glad they’re enjoying themselves; they are good people and he trusts them not to overindulge, just in case there are any issues. 

Ashe had announced thirty minutes ago he was taking a bath, and Felix immediately retreated to a corner. He has no idea why a corner specifically is helpful but here he is. He’s coping, it’s fine. The words ‘Ashe’ and ‘bath’ have not been circling in his mind with every second he’s gone. 

Felix takes a gulp of ale, enjoys the tang and spark of bitterness mellowing the sweet. It’s a good drink; he’ll have another before bed. Perhaps it will aid sleeping, not that he usually has any trouble with this, at least not for many years now. 

“Ridiculous,” he hisses to himself. It’s been three days, they have the rest of the week. He cannot keep doing this. 

“What is?” 

Felix is remarkably proud of himself for not jumping, flinching, or really reacting in any way to Ashe’s sudden appearance. Which may not have been so sudden, since he’s hardly been paying much attention in the past few minutes. 

“Nothing of value,” he replies, taking another sip and draining the mug as Ashe settles before him. 

His hair is still damp. It’s darker when sodden, and he pulls it back over one side, fingers catching a little as the strands knot together. Felix wants to snatch his hand back, insist he comb it correctly. Or have Felix do it himself. 

Dear Goddess, he needs to stop thinking entirely. 

“I take it that was good? I could use one. Would you like another?” Ashe says, gesturing at Felix’s now empty glass. 

“I can get it,” he says, but Ashe stands swiftly, shaking his head. A few droplets fall to the table. 

“No no, please let me. I’ll be back shortly,” he says, smiling and striding to the bar, flicking his hair out of his eyes once more. 

Felix groans quietly and thumbs his head against the wall behind. He is going to kill Sylvain for orchestrating this. Painfully and thoroughly destroy him. He’s thinking of various methods when Ashe returns, passing over a newly filled mug. 

“I suppose I should have guessed you’d like this. I’m actually surprised how nice it is. I wonder what spice they use?” Ashe says with a smile, taking a sip. 

“You can’t guess?” Felix says, unable to resist posing a challenge, but Ashe is not like his other friends, doesn’t rise or sigh but simply takes a second to consider. 

Which makes him unexpectedly calm, a strange dimming of an upward curve that Felix perpetually appears to be on. Always on the threshold of rushing somewhere, of launching himself forward, poised to attack or to advance in whatever direction necessary. 

Ashe tapers that urge—doesn’t give him that ignition to launch away, but forces him to pause, to still. Felix isn’t sure how he feels about this. 

“Possibly. I think Dedue would be better placed to identify them just by taste. You have a lot of faith in me,” Ashe says with a laugh. 

Felix leans on his hand, watching as Ashe takes another sip. His nose scrunches up in an adorable way as he tastes, and Felix has given up trying to stop himself from falling off the cliff and is just now in free fall. 

“Hmm, I’d say there’s some of that sour root... what was it called? Oh you know the one I mean, along with crushed south Fodlan seeds, and think Almyran pine needles, which explains why you like it,” Ashe concludes. 

The last part though, has Felix sitting straighter. 

“What?” he says, and Ashe tips his head, frowning. 

“That’s your favourite tea, right?” Ashe says, and Felix swallows, nodding unsure what to do now. 

It’s such an insignificant piece of information, but it’s not as if it’s a secret. Several people know his tea preference but because Ashe does, he feels as if it’s monumental, a sign from above—

And he’s an absolute idiot. Felix manages to contain his expression while they consume their drinks, conversation moving on to safer topics Felix cannot remember after he excuses himself to bed at a slightly early, but not so much to cause concern. 

He doesn’t sleep though, at least not for a while. He watches the light move through the windows, growing increasingly more frustrated with himself as sleep eludes him. He recalls Sylvain mentioning many years ago the woes of being kept up all night with thoughts of someone else. He’d dismissed at the time as part of Sylvain’s persona in that period, but on this he was apparently correct. 

It’s another reminder to kill his best friend later. 

* * *

Due to his restlessness, Felix is forced to rush to get ready on time. Ashe is waiting, giving him a quizzical and somewhat concerned look as they begin. 

“Are you alright?” Ashe asks, riding up to meet him as they set out. 

Felix grunts in acknowledgement, but realises that won’t be enough. “Overslept.” 

“I can see that. Were you not able to sleep?” Ashe says, clearly concerned. 

_No, I keep thinking about you and it’s keeping me awake, like in those damn romance novels you like,_ he thinks but instead just shrugs. “Apparently not. I’m fine, though.” 

For a moment, Ashe looks as if he might persist with his questioning, but thankfully lets it go. On his other side, one of the soldiers coughs into her hand, clearly hiding a laugh and he grips the reins on the horse harder. It’s day four of seven, it cannot get worse. He just has to endure. 

It lasts until the late afternoon when they arrive in the town before their scheduled stop. Market day is in full swing, and they end up dismounting to help make their way through the crowds. 

As Felix avoids people with ease, he notices the others are trailing behind; Ashe stares at a stall of books with unveiled longing. Felix sighs. 

“Do you want to look at books?” he says, and Ashe is so surprised he actually yells. 

He blushes as Felix waits for him to calm down, wondering how this man was part of the King’s army during the war. 

“O-oh, it’s just… there’s some rare volumes and we are ahead of time, so—” 

“Fine. I’ll meet you at the exit in thirty minutes,” Felix says, and moves to turn away. 

“Wait, do you not want to look?” Ashe calls, and Felix turns around. 

“Not really, but you ahead,” he says and hurries off before Ashe can say anything further. 

The soldiers are hesitant to go off on their own, even though Felix is sure they are not going to be attacked in a marketplace. They split to follow each of them, and Felix reluctantly wanders around so the one forced to stay with him gets a chance to look around. They stop at a flower stall where his guard buys bulbs; Felix almost bashes his head against a pillar when he considers looking, but eventually manages to find a weapons stall, which occupies him for almost all the time. 

He’s in a better mood when he arrives at the exit, the crowds thinning out so they will be able to ride safely. Ashe is adding another bag to his belongings when Felix arrives, but turns and smiles as he does. 

“Ah, I found something you might like!” he says, then produces two small pouches, which Felix takes with caution. 

Ashe chuckles at the reaction. “The blue one is the spice mix from the ale, or at least as close as I could get it. The green is tea. I know you probably have some at home, but it’s best fresh, after all,” he says. 

Felix numbly takes the pouches, unsure what to do otherwise. They’re small gifts, but heartfelt; the worst kind as he has never really known what to do with meaningful presents. There have been so few and far between. 

“Thank you,” he says, and the words sound so formal, stiff and rehearsed, not right to express emotion he cannot name. He feels the blush rising; wants to snatch his hands away, but that is unbelievably rude. He slowly takes them out of Ashe’s grip. 

“You’re welcome, Felix,” Ashe says, quiet and smiling back, not moving his hands back until Felix very slowly takes the pouches and moves them to his side. 

A throat clears, and they both jump at the same time, Ashe physically, and Felix just with the turn of his head to the soldiers who are now seeing to the horses. Ashe laughs, a little nervously in Felix’s ears, and they both separate to attend their own belongings. 

Felix carefully stows away the parcels, cursing his own haphazard nature as he tries to find a suitable place in his bags that will be safe enough to ensure they don’t get crushed or spilt. They ride on with an air of awkwardness which Felix cannot seem to dissipate or understand. Ashe still speaks to him, and does so through dinner that night, but the ease of familiarity is gone; he seems as if he is thinking deeply on which word to use before he says it, and the entire interaction is strangely draining. 

And yet, sleep is difficult. He cannot stop wondering about the gifts. He mind draws back to years ago, back to being students in the Officer’s Academy when Ashe had given a gift before. His birthday; he’d not been expecting anyone to remember, but Sylvain is a sticker for these things. The whole of the class, including the Professor, had been waiting in their morning lecture with presents. 

They didn’t make too much of a fuss, just enough to make Felix embarrassed and unsure how to act, but mostly let the day carry on as normal. He’d take the presents to his room and hugged Annette when she’d given him the spice cake later that day. Sylvain had insisted they go for a drink now that he was legally able to, and that had been genuinely fun, all of them that edge of tipsy but not overly drunk when they’d made their way back to the monastery. 

He’d opened the presents that night, all of them sweet and reminiscent of their givers in their own ways. So of course, Ashe had given him a book. It was the first real conversation they’d ever exchanged outside of class, and naturally it made him smile. 

It was a short story collection, one Felix read many times in the years that followed. Strangely, despite war and disaster, it did help to disappear into familiar, fantastical stories. He knows exactly where the book is now—dog-eared and falling apart back in his room in the estate. Poised on his desk, one of the few personal touches his room has, even after all this time. 

He tries to send himself to sleep recalling the stories, one by one, but it ends up as more of a distraction, and once again, he doesn’t get enough sleep, and, once again, he’s late. He doesn’t even remember having this problem at school when he’d spent nights studying or magic training. He’s more annoyed at himself than ever as he rides to the meeting point. 

As he approaches, Ashe just stares at him. 

“What?” he snaps, almost angrily as the lack of sleep and unwanted attention is playing on his barely-there nerves. 

“You... haven’t shaved,” Ashe says in a tone that Felix has never in his life heard anyone speak; so low in his throat it’s almost as if Ashe has someone else's voice, slow and careful, testing out words for the first time. 

Felix turns red; he’d forgotten this... issue. 

“Yeah. Late again,” he says, and Ashe blinks before looking away and coughing so hard his cheeks flush. 

He can sort of understand the reaction; his hair grows ridiculously quickly. It’s a pain, has been for so many years. It’s why his hair is now down to the small of his back. He hasn’t bothered to cut it away, and now it needs pulling back each morning. He seems to blink and his beard grows in. It makes his skin itch and doesn’t seem to sit well on his face, so he tries to counter the problem by shaving everyday. Except he’s been sleeping late for two days running and hasn’t had the time. 

He makes a mental note to shave either tonight or in the morning. He keeps scratching his face absently throughout the day, and he’s sure by the time they stop for the night, it must be rubbed raw. He’s exhausted; this part of the journey was always going to be the most dull, passing mostly through fields and pastures on their way to the nearest town. It’s nice, though, seeing the farms rebuild and crops growing, the ashes of war having started to finally blow away. 

Felix is almost tempted to go straight to sleep when they stop at the inn. The owner greets them with a smile, having been expecting them. 

“Room 4, just up the stairs. Dinner will be available in the next hour. Will you need any help with your belongings?” they ask. 

Felix blinks at the single key as Ashe takes it hesitantly. 

“Excuse me, but I think there should be a second room?” he says as Felix nods with alarming speed. 

The innkeeper frowns and looks back down at his ledger while Felix’s panic rises. It must only be a minute at most that they spend checking the details, but it feels so much longer when they raise their head. The expression tells Felix all he needs to know. 

“I’m terribly sorry, but it seems only one room was booked for you. We don’t have any spares, either,” they say, and Felix closes his eyes and tries to get his mind to stop whirring. 

“Oh, err. That’s okay, we can... it’s fine,” Ashe says quickly, and Felix glares at the desk, because it’s not okay. Really not okay, but it’s also not the innkeepers fault; it’s just a miscommunication. 

Or not. Sylvain is once again on his hit list. 

Felix turns away and discusses with his two soldiers, but they each have a single room, so it’s not exactly fair. So he returns to Ashe, who smiles a little shakily. 

“I’m sure we’ll be fine sharing a room for one night,” he says, and Felix nods, not trusting his voice to say anything as they make their way to their room. 

He’ll be fine. He’s already exhausted, and hopefully it just knocks him out. Ashe will be on the other side of the room, and while the proximity will be... difficult, Felix has dealt with worse situations. He’s shared a tent with Dimitri, after all, who snores like the boar he once was, and Ingrid talks in her sleep. Sylvain hogs pillows, of all things, and will steal them from under your head in the night. 

This will be fine. Nowhere near as bad. Except he eats his thoughts as soon as he opens the door and sees that there is...

One bed. One double bed in the room. 

“Ah,” Ashe says helpfully, and Felix breathes in through his nose and stalks into the room. 

How they got a double bed in here he isn’t sure. There is barely enough space around it. He puts his belongings on the floor, then turns to where Ashe walks in, closing the door softly behind him. The room seems to shrink instantly, closing in. It’s just the bed and Ashe, nothing else. 

Felix gulps. Ashe watches him, then clears his throat. 

“I can sleep on the floor, you need your rest,” he says. 

Felix scoffs at the idea. “Sleep where? There’s no space.” 

Ashe meets his eyes and frowns, eyes flickering to the bed then back to Felix. 

“Then... I suppose we share?” he says slowly, waiting for confirmation. 

“Like sharing tents,” Felix says, returning to his earlier train of thoughts. 

That seems to lighten the mood, for Ashe laughs. 

“Did Sylvain steal your pillow too?” he asks, and Felix groans, launching into the story of the time less than a year ago where Sylvain actually got (minorly) stabbed for his night antics. 

The evening passes in a blur of activity, simple decisions such as food and the best route for the morning. After bathing, though, Felix has no choice but to go back to his room. With one bed. Which he’s sharing. With Ashe. 

He stalls at the doorway, hands flexing in and out of fists before he turns with a growl and scrubs at his still wet hair. This is getting ridiculous. His resolve is nonexistent, when there is clearly nothing to be gained. Small gifts and observations mean nothing at all, and despite the constant berating, it seems he is unable to learn. He needs to calm down; deal with the situation and let go. 

It’s only a few more days. One night here, then two more on the road, and he is done. They’ll be in the company of others and their journey back will be with Ingrid and Dorothea; he just has to stay vigilant, and this will all be over soon. 

With new resolve, he pushes the door open. And it immediately crumbles when he sees Ashe reading in bed. 

It’s just so... _domestic_. That content happiness he sees in well-established couples. Not the fire and passion of lust or newly-discovered feelings, but the coming home to simple sights of seeing the person you care for being themselves in the same space you share—

Except this in an inn and Ashe is not his... anything. He is just passing time before bed, probably waiting for Felix so as to not disturb him. That sounds like an Ashe thing to do. Felix strides in and swipes at his hair with the towel as he does, seeing Ashe put down the book out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t face him though, simply continues with the rest of his night ritual, which is just to comb out his hair. 

This isn’t as quick as one would hope, though; his hair is thick and when added to water, becomes almost it’s own armour, making combing it a painful and long process. But it’s better than sleeping on it damp and tangled, for the mess in the morning is even worse a problem. 

He’s almost tempted to slice it off with a knife, but the last time he did that, he’d ended up with an uneven cut he’d spent ages trying to tie back effectively. Perhaps Dorothea will be able to help when they meet. 

Finally he’s done, and puts down the comb, turning to face Ashe, who for some reason, is watching him. Felix looks back warily, and Ashe jolts. 

“S-sorry, I just hadn’t realised how long it would take you to brush through your hair. I’ve never had mine long” he says. 

“It’s a pain. I’ll probably cut it soon,” he says. 

“No!” 

Ashe’s protesting sound surprises them both, and they both stare at one another in silence for a moment, until Ashe coughs. 

“I mean... it suits you, as it is. It would be a shame to let those years of growth go to waste,” he says. 

“I’ll need to cut it at some point,” Felix says, unsure where this conversation is going or why. Ashe seems to get that feeling too, for he turns towards the night stand, seeming to get himself ready for sleep. 

Felix gingerly sits down on his side of the bed, a thought that rocks him for a moment, then carefully peels back the covers and slides in. The bed is extremely comfortable, probably the most comfortable bed they’ve stayed in so far. But his muscles lock as Ashe blows out the candle and settles back himself. 

“Goodnight, Felix. I hope you sleep well,” Ashe says, and from his voice Felix can tell he is facing away from him. He’s not sure if that makes this better or worse. His mouth clicks, suddenly dry, and it takes him a moment to reply. 

“Good night.” 

Ashe shuffles his pillows for a moment before settling, but Felix stays ramrod straight, eyes glued at the ceiling. The proximity is excruciating. It’s not so small a bed they must touch, but the potential of touching is so great, he is beyond distracted. He doesn’t know what his body may do unbidden, so he keeps it in lock-down, so closed off it cannot move. 

“You can relax. I won’t steal your pillow, I promise,” Ashe says suddenly, and once again Felix laughs, a short sound but enough to get his body to unclench slightly melting into the mattress as Ashe chuckles too. 

And it seems to be enough to lull him down, for that is the last thing Felix recalls before sleep. 

* * *

He wakes slowly. It’s usual for him, he hasn’t ever been one to snap awake. Ingrid does, and it used to terrify him on the occasions she sat bolt upright at the call of her name, barely conscious. His first moment of awareness is the sun. The brightness is disruptive, enough to call him back to the world, and he flexes his toes first, which are wound in the blanket as they usually are. 

Felix scrunches up his eyes, unwilling to open them in this moment. He feels sunken, still deeply pressed in the clutches of sleep, sight reluctant to return when he is comfortable. So he tries with his fingers this time, which close around warmth as he moves them. 

It’s then, for the first time in his life, that he snaps to attention out of sleep. His eyes fly open, and he’s face to face with hair. Grey toned and light, almost shining like gunmetal as the sun streams across it, Ashe is curled up next to him, their hands clasped together. It’s a strange tangle of fingers and hands; not a true grip, but light as Ashe’s fingers curl into his palm, his little finger and ring finger slotted into match Felix’s.

They are close. So close, Felix’s increasing tempo of exhalations is ruffling Ashe’s hair. Their bodies aren’t quite pressed together, as if their hands met and it was enough to have just this small point of contact in slumber. Which it must be, as Felix feels not only rested but comforted, relaxed and sated through his night so close to Ashe. 

Or he would be if he wasn’t starting to panic. Carefully, he extracts his fingers one by one, as he slowly inches backward feet first. It’s ridiculously awkward, but he manages to let go of Ashe’s hand, the only response of fluttering of eyelashes, which does not help the situation, as Felix wants to trace the shadows they make on Ashe’s cheeks. 

He gets up and leaves for the bathroom, even though a part of him in another universe stays in that bed and curls up with Ashe for a few more moments. Felix stares at his reflection, taking out his shaving kit as he begins the motions, so practised they need minimal concentration. 

He’s never truly shared a bed with anyone, not in that sense. A few tense nights that haven’t lasted until dawn with barely any sleep, but that is hardly the same. He doesn’t know what it would feel like to go to sleep with someone, and open his eyes on waking and see them still there. 

To be with someone who stayed all night. To be wanted for that long, and hopefully more nights to follow. 

He finishes shaving and rinses his face, a sense of calm flooding through now he’s back to his usual self. It also helps to slice away at stupid fantasies. If he wants that, he’ll need to meet people, connect and spend the time building a relationship. A decision for another time, though. 

He dresses then immediately goes down to breakfast; he’s a coward, but the thought of going back to the room and seeing Ashe as he wakes up will be too much for his heart to take. He’ll probably confess on the spot or something more ridiculous. 

Would that be so bad? A voice in his mind asks and he stops eating instantly. He’s never actually considered telling Ashe. There is no evidence that his feelings are reciprocated, so what would be the point? Especially on this trip, where the remaining time would be awkward. 

It plays on his mind though, especially when Ashe meets him at breakfast. 

“Oh you remembered to shave,” he says, and Felix can hear disappointment in his voice. Which is strange to say the least, but Ashe turns away and starts asking about the plans for the journey before he can think on it any further. 

The day is dull once more, and Felix contents himself with counting trees and random foliage he can identify, and certainly not thinking of waking up hand in hand with Ashe. Not thinking of the domesticity of Ashe looking at him from the doorway, reading a book and lying in bed as if he were waiting for him. In general, he does not think about Ashe. 

They set up at the end that night as expected. Felix feels relief; after the otherwise quiet day, normalcy is returning between them. At dinner, they simply catch up; Ashe informs him of how some of the other former Garreg Mach students are fairing, while Felix shares a few stories of his travels over the past year. It feels like old times, and he goes to bed on time, sleeps well, and rises as normal. 

As he meets the guards that morning, Ashe is nowhere to be seen. He’s not late, but Felix is used to him being the first there, yet tries not to jump to worry. They’ll reach Ingrid, Dorothea, and Petra by late afternoon, so they can afford to set off a little later. 

It’s as he is chatting to the guards that Ashe bursts into the stables, hair askew and bags slipping off his shoulders. Felix immediately marches over to help, surprised at how frazzled he seems. 

“I’m so sorry I kept you waiting!” Ashe says, slightly out of breath as Felix takes his satchel. 

“It’s not a problem. You’re barely late, and we’ve made good time,” Felix says, walking to Ashe’s horse, as Ashe stumbles after him. 

“Ah, I can do it, please don’t trouble yourself, Felix,” he protests, but Felix snorts. 

“It’s fine. Did you get anything to eat? You have time to pick something up, just leave your stuff here,” he says, turning back around. 

He blinks as he sees Ashe’s face fully for the first time. He looks exhausted, eyes heavy, and skin so pale, his freckles stand out obscenely. His shoulders droop where he stands, and Felix has the sudden, intense need to offer comfort, although he’s not sure how to or what for. 

But before he has the chance to say anything, Ashe nods and quickly retreats to the inn, Felix left staring after him, lost in his own thoughts. Once again, it’s a cough from one of the soldiers which brings him back, both grinning as he scowls and fixes Ashe’s belongings to his horse. 

Ashe returns a few moments later, chewing rapidly on a warm roll. Felix sighs; he’d actually hoped Ashe would stop for ten minutes and eat properly, but he knows by the determined stride that there is no use trying to argue with him. 

So they saddle up and move on their way. This part of the world is more run down, and an ache spreads in Felix’s heart. He’s heard from Ingrid that they are doing all they can for the people here, but it’s taking time, having been hit hard by battle years ago. It’s strange what a few days of siege will do, causing eons of damage. 

“This feels like being back at war,” Ashe says quietly. They pass abandoned dwellings and overgrown land, the people unable to grow what they need, or simply not be able to gain the tools to live and prosper. 

“It does,” Felix says, just as quietly, for there is something eerie and exposed about it. Instinctively, they are riding closer, and he can see how tightly Ashe grips the reins of his horse. 

“I had... a dream. Last night. I haven’t had it for years but... I used to get it all the time, in the war. Must be as I knew we were coming here,” he says, and Felix cannot help but stare unabashedly. 

He doesn’t doubt they’re all still affected by the war, and for most of his friends, what came before. They have certainly not lived easy lives. With his closest friends, he knows of their pains, confessed through years of knowing, breaking and mending by each other’s sides. But Ashe has always been a jubilant source in Felix’s mind. Although like all of them Felix has seen him through a variety of emotions, the overwhelming ones in his recollection are positive. 

Yet he’s realising how artificial this is. Ashe has suffered the loss of family multiple times, lived on the streets, and worked incredibly hard to be where he is. It’s not without costs. Why it’s taken Felix so long to realise, he doesn’t know;but now he’s got there, he needs to express this. Find out if he can help with whatever phantoms are haunting Ashe. 

That is, until a movement in the trees causes pause. 

He stills his horse, listening, his entire body taunt and poised. Ashe beside him also stops moving, queued by Felix or his own observations, he doesn’t know, but it’s a boost of confidence to have someone so competent beside him, even if they haven’t fought side by side in many years. 

The whistle of the arrow is not unexpected, and both pull their horses out of the way in time. Felix jumps from his mount, sword flying from its sheath as Ashe cocks his bow from horseback. The gallop of horses from the guards echoes as they are the first into the fray, the attackers spilling forward onto the road. 

Thieves. All desperate, half starved. Felix’s gut churns even as he prepares himself for the fight. He doesn't want to do this, knows that their skill level most likely far surpass their foes, but he’ll not get an arrow in the gut for his hesitation. 

It isn’t a quarrel that takes long, as Felix predicted. They fight to disable, but that in itself could be crushing for these people’s lives, and no strike is without regret. It’s just when Felix has a man caught by his wrists that he pulls out a crudely constructed blade, which nicks Felix in his side. 

He hisses, knocks them man out with a swift kick and staggers back. Blood seeps from his side, staining his shirt instantly despite Felix clutching his side as quickly as possible. 

“Damn,” he says to himself, pulling back now they have the rest of the thieves secured, wobbling slightly. 

“Felix,” Ashe calls and before Felix has time to look up, his friend is by his side, face serious. 

“Sit down, let’s take a look,” he says, voice calm but stern.Felix allows himself to be led to a nearby fallen tree while the soldiers deal with the thieves and discuss how to reach the nearest authorities. 

His side burns in a sadly familiar way, and Felix wonders distractedly if there will ever be a time when he is not so intimately acquainted with the pain which comes from battle. He is thrown back into reality when Ashe pulls at his shirt, wincing as the fabric is pulled away from the wound. 

“Easy,” Ashe says softly, staring at Felix’s side. He looks down at the wound and grimaces; he’s never really been able to stomach the sight of his own blood and body slicing open, even though he’s tended to others without any such issues. 

“It’s bleeding a lot, but it doesn’t seem too deep. I have some herbs which will help staunch it until we get to a healer,” Ashe says, and looks at Felix then, then green of his eyes so bright he just nods slowly once, held captive until they are snatched away as Ashe moves swiftly to his pack. 

He runs back and Felix almost wants to tell him to calm down, that it really isn’t a deep enough wound to merit this type of panic, yet it is nice to be doted over. That feeling very soon shifts though when he recognises the herbs Ashe has produced. 

“Don’t give me that look, Felix! It stings but we still have a few hours of travel before we arrive, and neither of us know healing magic,” Ashe states, raising an eyebrow. 

Felix scoffs but turns his head away. This isn’t the first time his lack of healing magic has been mentioned, but with Mercedes, Sylvain, Dorothea, and Byleth knowing the spells, it had never been a priority. Except when he’s practically alone and bleeding out. 

“Okay, I’ll add them and wrap it up as quickly as I can. Hold onto your shirt,” Ashe says, and Felix does, a little annoyed his hand shakes so much. 

“Felix. Look at me.” 

He does then, and Ashe is staring back, that smile and those eyes all he can see even as his side pulses with pain. 

“You’ll be okay. I promise,” Ashe says, and Felix in that second really believes that Ashe could make the entire world better with that promise. 

Until the sneaky bastard pushes the herbs into the wound. 

To his credit, Felix does not scream. He does bite down on his lip hard enough to draw blood, though, the metallic tinge slipping down his throat and grounding him in the moment; a new centre of pain to keep him steady. 

“Just binding it,” Ashe mutters. Felix wants to push him away as his vision just becomes a haze of acidic bites, the herbs doing their job of cauterising but in the most painful way possible. He twitches as Ashe adjusts in order to wind the bandage around his middle, blinks away tears that will not fall. It’s only pain, and pain can be overcome. 

Which he does, for even though these herbs are always vicious in their initial workings, they numb fairly quickly. He is still breathing hard when Ashe finishes, kneeling before him, hands on Felix’s knees. 

They are close like this, Ashe peering into his face, blinking slowly, clearly checking to ensure Felix is still present, still functioning. But he too leans in, drawn magnetically forward despite the nature of the situation. This is far from a romantic moment, yet Ashe seems to stay just as close, perhaps even lean in himself—

“You’ll need a new shirt.” 

Felix freezes, as Ashe picks up the hem of his blood stained and torn shirt, as if this is really an important aspect right now. 

“Do you have a clean one?” he asks, and Felix shakes his head, still not sure how they jumped from the mortifying incident of him leaning in as if to be kissed to discussing his shirt. 

“Ah, not to worry, you can wear one of mine!” Ashe says, jumping up and once again making his way to his horse while Felix stares after him in horror. 

Was the knife cursed? It must have been, and he must be living out some other reality where he cannot control himself, for he nearly tried to kiss Ashe. And now he’s going to be wearing his clothes. This couldn’t be worse, it absolutely couldn’t be. 

“Here, we’re about the same size. Best to change while you can, the city guard are on their way,” Ashe says as if he’s handing over a package of fruit and not his own clothing for Felix to wear. 

  
It’s going to smell like Ashe. Felix is going to die. 

It’s also going to be blindly obvious, Felix realises as he pulls off his own shirt and pulls Ashe’s over his head, that it is not his clothing. For although they are indeed relatively the same size, they wear entirely different styles, and Felix has never owned a shirt like this before. 

Once dressed, he looks back to find Ashe staring at him, eyes as wide as possible. Felix crosses his hands over his chest and walks carefully to his own horse, still feeling Ashe’s eyes on him as he does. He can’t imagine how odd he must look, hence the staring, and hopes the guard hurries so they can be on their way. 

The thought though, causes him to sigh heavily and tip his head back in frustration. He'll have to explain to Ingrid how he managed to get a fresh stab wound on his way to a peaceful celebration. Another reason to dread this already disastrous trip. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A trope-filled chapter 3 coming soon (yes there are more, I have a tally).
> 
> Find me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ah, this must be your husband, a pleasure to meet you,” the ambassador says and Felix feels his whole body freeze, a roar in his ears while his face somehow blushes, and he knows Ingrid must be enjoying this wholeheartedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the support of this story! You are all wonderful. 
> 
> I found more tropes. Somehow. 
> 
> All the thanks in the world to the lovely Valania, my amazing beta and even more wonderful friend. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“So, precisely why did you turn up wearing Ashe’s shirt?” Ingrid says the moment they are alone together. 

In response, Felix growls and points to his now healed wound. 

“I got stabbed and my shirt was ruined. Would you rather I turn up covered in my own blood?” he says, and Ingrid smirks. 

“So in all your belongings, you didn’t have a single shirt of your own?” she says, moving to stand near the window, arms folded. 

It’s a worry, her line of questioning. She seems exceptionally fixated on the matter of the shirt, and he cannot help but wonder if it’s more than pleasant questioning. But he must be paranoid; Ingrid is the most obtuse when it comes to romance. She had no idea of Sylvain’s feelings until he kissed Dimitri in front of them all (a day Felix wishes he could erase from his memory), and Dorothea had to spell her own feelings out in words of one syllable. 

It’s all in his head. Only the red heads know, and as soon as he returns home, one of them is going to suffer for this set up. He composes himself and comes up with a generic answer. 

“Not a clean one,” he mutters and Ingrid bites her lip against laughter for a second, before her face sobers. 

“Only you could get attacked on the road, Felix. You’re lucky you weren’t far away,” she says, and his hands fall to his sides. 

“I wasn’t a bad wound, don’t fret,” he says, as kindly as he can without betraying the slight frustration he feels. 

It’s a tone Ingrid is used to, although it’s softened over time. She’s always worried, even if as children, half the time the ideas which got them in the most trouble were hers to begin with. But there’s always been a part of her which feels responsible for all of them, even now they are far older and supposedly wiser. 

“Well, you’re all patched up now. And we should join the others. How was the journey before then?” she says, opening the door for him. 

Felix has to take a moment before he manages to piece together a tale that doesn’t involve mentioning Ashe every five seconds. It’s enough entertainment to get them into the main hall of the manor they are staying in, doors opening and his name being called. He turns to see Dorothea, arms open wide, and he braces himself for the hug. 

He doesn’t mind her hugs, he’s just still not used to them. Not used in general to having such contact with anyone, especially in the past few years. He finds himself sinking, a strange sensation as she pulls him to her tightly, as if his body goes somewhere between numb and on edge, both craving more and wishing to back away. Dorothea is barely taller than him, but she’s always been a contact person, a bit like Sylvain, really. And he doesn’t always know how to deal with that. 

She pulls back and smiles, then shakes her head. 

“Of course you had to come with a little drama,” she says and he rolls his eyes. 

“Sorry to steal your thunder,” he says and she laughs loudly, causing him to grin. It’s taken at least a year to work out how to talk freely with her, but she’s actually a lot easier to understand than most.

As Dorothea moves, Petra comes into view. Felix bows and she nods before returning it. 

“It has been so long, Felix, I am greatly happy to see you again. You have my thanks for rescuing my advisor,” she says and Felix shrugs. 

“I wasn’t—it was no trouble,” he says, stopping short when he realises saying that it wasn’t intentional is probably not the best plan. 

“You are healed?” she asks, and when Felix nods, she smiles. “Tomorrow we welcome you with a dinner, so tonight please relax,” she says and Felix feels frustration both rise and fall in the same instance. He’s glad there’s one night of respite, but of course the impending knowledge of the next few days of constant celebrations weighs heavy. 

He is tired though, considering healing magic always depletes energy levels. The knowledge he will sleep well tonight is something he appreciates, seeing the events of the day will most likely weigh heavily on his mind. 

Dorothea launches forward then, linking arms with Petra and discussing something about a festival taking place, Petra nodding seriously as they start to depart. 

“Are you feeling better?” 

Felix starts, but only a snort from his left indicates that Ingrid noticed, seeing as she knows him far too well. He glances over to see Ashe by his side, footsteps as quiet as ever, and nods once. 

“Much, all healed,” he says, although he knows he is repeating. 

“They were impressed by the herbs you used,” Ingrid chimes in, and Felix turns to give her a flat look, to which she responds to with a raised eyebrow. 

He instantly feels his face heat. _She knows_. Somehow, in some way, she’s managed to find out how he feels about Ashe. He must be so blindingly obvious if Ingrid can see it, which is not an accolade he’s ever wanted to achieve. Thankfully, he’s saved from any potential questioning when Ashe strikes up a conversation with Ingrid regarding the books he bought at the market, which keeps them entertained through their private dinner, leaving Felix without the need to contribute. 

“Hey, looks like I missed all the fun,” Dorothea says as she slides into a seat next to Ingrid as they finish off their meal. 

“They’ve been talking about books,” Felix supplies and Dorothea gives Ingrid an indulgent smile that makes Felix want to turn away. The ring on her finger sparkles a little in the dying light, having slipped down her finger. But she makes no move to adjust it, seeming now so used to having it there, unlike when Felix last saw her and she couldn’t stop touching it. 

He doesn’t know what’s more heartwarming, in a way. The initial amazement they both displayed, or the comfort they’ve already found. That ache appears, that feeling of seeing others he knows so well just understand where they fit, in life and with others. While he continues to float between places and people, lifting out and in without a mark. 

“Really? Are you sure?!” Ashe says, voice taking on an exciting pitch that makes Felix snap into the conversation. 

“Yes, they are a travelling player company, we saw them last year and they are fabulous. I’m sure their rendition of Loog and the Wayward Knight will be just as good!” Dorothea says and Felix just about stops himself from groaning. 

A play. He’s not really a fan of such things, mostly the plots tend to be far too tragic, or sadly of late, about the war. He doesn’t need to see some fantastical and awfully glorified rendition of a conflict he participated in. It’s not even close to entertainment. 

“Felix, you’ll come too, right? Not everyday these players arrive,” Ingrid says, and Felix feels his heart sink even more. 

But then he takes one look at Ashe, who practically sparkles with joy at the mere prospect, and knows there is only one answer. 

“Fine. It had better be worth my time,” he says, only mildly happier when his friends’ faces light up. 

He does however, leave his friends to their cups and excitement shortly after, with a tiredness he doesn’t have to fake. As expected, he sleeps deeply, his body drained so much it shuts down to replenish its resources with the darkness, and he wakes feeling better than he has done in weeks. 

That is, until Ingrid suggests they go for a ride. 

He knows it’s coming, but he is surprised that they are barely out of the manor when she pounces. 

“You like Ashe. When did this start?” she says, riding next to him without even checking what she’s doing, being on a horse now almost the same as walking for her. Felix, however, still prefers his own body to rely on, and takes a moment to steady both his horse and himself. 

“What makes you think that?” he tries but she rolls her eyes. 

“Really? You’re a terrible liar. It’s why you always got into trouble when we were little, you could never keep your story straight,” she says and he huffs, knowing it to be true. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he says instead, for really it’s true. There is nothing he can do with these emotions even if he has them, so why does it matter how long they’ve existed for? 

Ingrid frowns. “Felix, of course it does. You obviously care about it him, and he cares for you-”

Felix makes a noise that’s something between a snort and a laugh as they round the estate. 

“Hardly. He’s been nearby my territory for moons and I’d not heard a word,” he says, the bitterness creeping in. 

“You’re never home, Felix. I can barely keep up with where you are. It’s only through His Highness we have any idea where you might be,” she says gently, and Felix shakes his head. 

Ashe could have left a message, tried to contact him, anything. He’d been home for some time in preparation for the trip and still no contact. 

“We don’t speak except for at formal occasions. I don’t remember when I last saw him,” he says. 

Ingrid doesn’t reply but raises an eyebrow as if to contradict that statement and really, his friends do know him far too well. He of course knows the last time, but he’s not going to start admitting more than he apparently already has. 

“I don’t see how you come to the conclusion he cares about me. He cares as much as he cares about any of us,” Felix says and Ingrid gets that look on her face that’s usually reserved for Sylvain. He’s actually a little insulted she thinks he’s merited it. 

“Maybe you should try looking harder,” she says, then canters forward, forcing them to both end the conversation and ride properly. 

He tries not to mull over the conversation too much, but it’s hard not to between meeting various officials and simply wandering around. Felix hasn’t had this much free time in years. He’s always filling his days with tasks, and when he runs out of those, he makes new ones. Keeps moving, doesn’t think, doesn’t pause. 

He feels a strange itch under his skin in this down time, a will to find something to pass the moments. So he thinks about Ashe, thinks about the gifts from the market, and that morning at the inn, thankful for every interruption that stops his head from spinning. 

He meets the ambassador again, who Felix wouldn’t have recognised without Petra’s introduction. He barely remembers that day, but it turns out there is merit in the connection, for he is interested in both trade, and political debate, which could be quite lucrative. Felix is hardly a negotiator, but Sylvain will definitely be able to broker this relationship, so for now just tries to keep the ties alive. Not that he has to do much, as the ambassador feels he has had a debt, which no matter how many times Felix’s reassurances sound, cannot be removed. 

He announces as such by the time they enter dinner, Felix’s head beginning to ache from meeting so many people, when a quiet, familiar chuckle sounds next to him. 

“Already making an impression,” Ashe says, coming to his side. 

Felix feels himself relax and dislikes it, but tells himself it’s because Ingrid and Petra also follow, and the sight of familiar faces is welcome after so many new people. 

“Ah, this must be your husband, a pleasure to meet you,” the ambassador says and Felix feels his whole body freeze, a roar in his ears while his face somehow blushes, and he knows Ingrid must be enjoying this wholeheartedly. 

“They are travelling companions. Ashe is a Knight of the King,” Petra explains quickly, and the ambassador's face lights up with interest; Felix thaws as Ashe has already begun explaining more about the court, so doesn’t see his reaction. 

“Told you so,” Ingrid mutters and Felix marches quickly over to a server for a glass of wine before anyone can start making any further assumptions. 

It’s not enough alcohol to numb him from the confusion and embarrassment, but it’s a diversion, and the scowl he knows he’s sporting keeps people at bay, at least until dinner is served. There seems to be no place settings, and there are more people than Felix expects in attendance, so he just moves forward, aiming for a table somewhere near the door.

That is until he looks up and Ashe waves, already seated near Dorothea and Ingrid, a chair spare next to him. 

It makes sense; it’s nothing but a friendly action, he tells himself as he walks over and slips into the seat, Dorothea filling up his glass immediately. 

“This is bigger than I expected,” he says, thinking he has to say something seeing as a few minutes ago he was mistaken for Ashe’s husband. 

“It’s the last few days of Petra’s trip, so there are a lot of people vying for her attention. And yours, as you’ve seen. But you can be contacted again,” she says, and Felix nods, already tired.

The food though, is good. He gets hauled into a conversation to his left with a sword forger which is the most interesting conversation he’s had apart from Ashe, and by the time the main course is served, he has already provisionally ordered a new sword. 

When she’s drawn into a different conversation, he finally turns back to his friends who seem to be deep in conversation already. So he just observes for a moment, never quite sure how to ease into discussions without breaking the flow. 

Ingrid’s been a part of his memories almost as far back as he can recall. She’s always had a stiffness to her, those wild moments she displayed as a child were shed so quickly after Glenn’s death; the turning point in most of their lives. She’s never quite been at ease in herself, as what he now understands as her struggle between what she believed she should do and what she wanted. 

Now, though, she is comfortable. Relaxed even, so at home in a setting which is unfamiliar. She leans slightly into Dorothea as they all talk, both just gravitating to one another. Felix doesn’t even think they’re aware of it. Pure instinct, pure trust in another person. He doesn’t understand it. Of course, he’s seen couples before but this is more than lust, more than doting, more than marriages of financial or political sense. 

They know what they want, and have no qualms of sharing that with one another. And Felix watches them, sits in their presence and once again, is struck by how apart he is. He has to admit, it’s almost longing that courses, at the easy contentment they share and his wish that he knew how to feel like that. Perhaps he’s incapable, for despite how far he’s come there’s always been this wall between him and his friends, between anyone he’s met, between what he means to say and what comes out of his mouth. 

He takes another swig of wine, food abandoned. Maybe there’s too much wine, it’s making him maudlin. Maybe there’s not enough wine, a careful balance. 

“Did you just order a sword?” Ashe asks, and suddenly Felix is the centre of attention. Leave it to Ashe to make him feel included right when he’s doubting everything. 

“Potentially,” he says and Ashe smiles as Dorothea groans. 

“Felix, it’s a celebration dinner, please stop ordering weapons,” she says. 

“It’s ceremonial,” he replies as Dorothea starts filling up all of their glasses again. 

Ingrid actually wants to hear about the sword, so they manage to converse as more wine is consumed, especially for Felix, who takes one look at the sweet desert and offers it up to Ingrid who takes it gratefully. 

They adjourn all lighter, and in that dizzying stage of inebriation where everything swings slightly off-kilter and the smallest incidents are hilarious. They stumble outside, Dorothea, who is doing the best out of all of them, leading the group outside. They sit a ways away from the dining hall, cups still clutched in their hands, aimlessly staring at the sky. 

It’s a childish, silly thing to do but Felix doesn’t care. He rarely cares what people think but he also rarely indulges in such clear frivalry, so he must be affected. Mostly as he likes it. Ingrid naming stars after various heroines, Dorothea after starlets, and Felix trying to steer them all back by calling out their actual names. 

Well, he knows they are star names. Whether or not they are the names of the stars he’s pointing to is another question entirely. 

“How do you know about stars?” Ashe asks, leaning into Felix as he tries to correct Ingrid once again, who isn’t really listening. 

Felix pauses, Ashe almost completely folded into his side, head close to his shoulder. The warmth, the closeness feels nice though, and with the wine in his veins he feels as if he shouldn’t just sit and enjoy it seeing as Ashe moved to be this close. But he can’t bring himself to move. 

He wants to drown in this feeling, turn so he can wrap himself up in someone else’s comfort of touch, and with Ashe he knows it really will be comforting. Mere hours ago, he was wondering if it even could feel like this, experience this. And he can, so easily with just the right circumstances in alignment. 

But that thought has an element of terror, his hands flexing as if he wishes to jump up and spring away, that weird sensation of both wanting and not wanting to be close. But he pushes it aside to speak. 

“My mother taught me. Originally, anyway. I remembered a lot, and read more,” he says, staring up at the lights as Ingrid’s conversation with Dorothea becomes somewhat more ridiculous. 

“You don’t talk about her,” Ashe says, and this time does actually lean his head on Felix’s shoulder. It’s so much of a change considering how close they were before, but it seems monumental; Felix swallows, trying not to stiffen too much, acutely aware of how Ashe’s hair tickles his cheek. 

“She died when I was five. There’s only so much I remember. No use talking about it, really,” he says, but against him Ashe shakes his head. 

“Of course there is. It’s how we remember those we loved,” he says, and Felix doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just stares up at the stars as if they’ll help answer the tumultuous charge of the feeling in his heart and his head. 

“You’ve lost a lot,” Ashe says softly, more into Felix’s neck than aloud. In response, Felix sighs and drops his head onto Ashe’s, as if gravity no longer exists. 

“So have you,” he replies just as quietly. 

They stay like that, silently staring at the stars until Ashe almost pitches forward onto his face as he falls asleep. 

“Bed time,” he says, getting up jerkily, and Dorothea jumps at the opportunity to grab Ingrid and do the same. 

Ashe holds out his hand to Felix, as if he cannot stand alone or as if in his state, Ashe would be any help. But Felix takes it anyway, the pressure just as good as having him by his side. 

“You should tell me about the stars again,” Ashe says with a smile and then leaves, Felix watching him go before remembering he has his own bed to depart to. 

* * *

Felix hasn’t been to the theatre since before he started the Officer’s Academy. He’s sure his father must have taken him at some point, but if so, it’s not an event he recalls with fondness. He therefore has little to add to the conversation as they are escorted to the theatre. It’s not subtle, seeing as Petra is with them, although she is just as excited as the others. 

At least Felix knows the story so won’t be utterly confused, or potentially can jump back in if he ends up falling asleep. 

“Are you excited?” Petra asks him as they are escorted inside. 

“Somewhat,” he says, and she smiles. 

“It is not how I usually spend my time either,” she confides, but accepts a programme with a smile when handed out. 

“It’s one of Felix’s favourite books, don’t listen to him,” Ashe says and Felix rolls his eyes. 

“Oh? You are liking stories of Knights? That is unexpected,” she says and Felix frowns. 

“He’s like that. Unexpected,” Ashe says in such a soft tone that even Petra turns to look at him. The way he speaks seems to strike within Felix, breaks something and reforges it in a matter of seconds, while Ashe turns red. 

“I-In that Felix likes a lot of things you wouldn’t expect him to. Like cats!”

“What?” Felix says suddenly as Petra laughs and the two of them, Ashe eyes going wider still. 

“I am going to find my seat,” he says through clenched teeth, and Petra laughs even harder, voice following him as he stalks to find Ingrid and Dorothea. 

He cannot though, escape that new feeling. Like a sword through flesh, it strikes the possibility that he can see the meaning of Ingrid’s pronouncement of Ashe’s care for him. The other actions he could potentially chalk up to co-incidence but that softness means… something. 

Perhaps they had almost kissed before, when Felix was hurt. Perhaps there was more to Ashe leaning into him than just somewhat drunken comfort. Perhaps there was more to the gifts from the market. 

But do all of them count? And to what? More importantly, what does Felix do with this new realisation? 

Nothing for now, as Dorothea hands him candy as he approaches. 

“It’s sour,” she says and he blinks down at them. 

“You’ve never had some? I think you’ll like them,” she says. Ingrid grabs for one, puts it in her mouth, and nearly retches. 

Felix grins and eats, pleasantly surprised at the flood and bite of the taste, while Ingrid makes faces and the people around them take their seats. 

“Are you eating candy?” Ashe asks, startling him, because of course he would be sitting next to Felix. 

He pauses for a second, not enough to cause an issue as he makes a mime of sorting the candy out so he doesn’t drop it as he turns to Ashe. He waits for some sort of acknowledgement, hesitation or awkwardness of what passed before, but there’s nothing. Almost as if it never happened, even though Felix could not have imagined that type of event. 

This makes it ever more perplexing. 

“It’s sour,” he warns and Ashe grimaces. 

“Why would you do that to candy?” he mutters and Felix grins again before he pops another piece in his mouth. 

“I have normal candy, Ashe,” Ingrid says and leans over to offer her bag, and Ashe leans over Felix until they meet in the middle right over his lap. 

He freezes as Ashe leans into his space, Ingrid pausing so he can reach. He knows this is on purpose and it really shouldn’t bother him, but Ashe is so close and that need flies up again. That will to lean in, to feel that contact with another, to be surrounded with that warmth which he’d felt so briefly when they’d looked at the stars. 

He swallows as Ashe and Ingrid exchange pleasantries while Ashe leans over his lap, arm braced on his seat and head close to Felix’s. He can smell Ashe; none of that romanticism of flowery scents, he simply smells like a person with a faint scent of the same soap Felix recognises from his own shower. Yet there is something beyond it that’s familiar, reminds him of nights in the library and days in the kitchen, those memories which are explicitly tied with Ashe. 

And they are stolen abruptly when Ashe pulls back with a handful of candy. 

Felix focuses on the seat in front of him, the paper bag of candy crinkling in his grasp as he tries to calm the thundering of his heart. By the time he steadies himself, he looks over and sees both Ingrid and Dorothea staring at him with knowing expressions, and he feels his blush, which he hadn’t realised was already there, deepen further. He snaps his head back and eats another sour candy for something to do. 

Luckily, a hush falls over the audience and candles are extinguished as the players begin. Felix has to admit, it’s genuinely good; although it’s not his prefered form of entertainment, they stay true to the story, the acting is excellent, and they do well in creating the atmosphere. He does find himself criticising their sword play under his breath, which Ingrid then joins in, the two only stopping when Ashe elbows him and Dorothea gives a stern glare to her fiance. 

They of course overplay the emotion scenes, and Felix rolls his eyes at a few romantic declarations and a few of the death scenes are drawn out far too dramatically. He is starting to get restless by the end, but in a dim way, as the final scene is an emotional reconciliation of two lovers, one having dramatically swooped in unexpectedly without warning. 

Around him, there’s many a sniffle, and he has to give it to the actors, it’s well done. They’ve built up their relationship steadily over the past hour and a half, and Felix even finds himself genuinely moved, knowing they won’t meet again until years after war. From his left though, there is a quiet sniff, and he turns to see Ashe trying to stifle his emotions. 

Felix knows it’s just in response to the play. Ashe most likely cried the first time he read the book, but it still makes Felix’s heart ache to see. Without conscious thought, he moves his hand from the armrest and lays it over Ashe’s. To his surprise, Ashe doesn’t flinch; his hand tenses under Felix’s for a second, but relaxes just as quickly. Slowly, his hand turns, and Felix completely loses interest in the climax of the production as Ashe’s hand is suddenly in his. 

Felix looks ahead. He looks at the actors but doesn’t see the end of the show, just spends the next five minutes being incredibly conscious of how hot his hand feels, hoping against hope Ashe isn’t paying attention to how clammy their joint palms are becoming. The moment is only broken when the play ends and Ashe takes his hand back to clap, thunderous applause echoing around Felix, pulling him back down to Earth. 

“Did you enjoy it?” Ashe asks him as they await their escort a few minutes later, although Felix seems to be in some sort of daze where time is not passing in the correct manner. 

He looks at Ashe, eyes still bright from the excitement and perhaps tears, and he’s drawn into saying “yes” before the question can even really penetrate his mind. Ashe smiles and Felix returns it before they are ushered forward to their carriage. But it doesn’t prevent him from hearing Dorothea’s “wow” uttered from behind. 

Which is precisely why both Dorothea and Ingrid are in his chambers after breakfast the next morning. 

Really, they should all be too old to be acting like this, it’s vaguely reminiscent of times at the monastery when he’d been dragged to join in with some teenage worry. They’re all older, wiser, warriors, and should not be sitting on his bed talking about boys. 

But seeing as Felix spent most of his childhood preparing for battle, perhaps he can spend his adulthood acting like a love sick child. It pains him to admit that’s what he is, but all his cards are shown, as everyone saw them at the play. 

“You were holding hands,” Ingrid says for what might be the fifth time, and before Felix can even open his mouth, Dorothea wags a finger at him. 

“Felix Fraldarious, if you even try to pretend that holding hands with Ashe in a theatre is platonic, I will smack you. Even you aren’t that dense,” she says, and he throws his hands up in defeat. 

“Fine, fine. Well, what am I meant to do?” he says and Ingrid grins. 

“Firstly, try admitting how you feel,” she says with a smug expression, clearly recalling his half admittance just a few days previously. 

Felix feels his impatience rise. “What are you blathering about?” he says, already tired though he’s barely been awake long. 

“Felix, I don’t know why you’re so determined to bury feelings that are so clearly reciprocated. This should be a good moment. You should feel happy,” Ingrid says quietly, the mood dropping. 

This is, at the centre of it all, one of the issues. He does feel happy, in fleeting instances where he just forgets all else but he and Ashe. But they are just moments before reality sets in. 

He has come to realise, since being forced in these few weeks to stay still, that he has this restlessness he cannot quench. This longing for something that’s missing, that all others around him have. He grew up aspiring to be like Glenn, his model of greatness, and when Glenn died, he still aspired to meet unfathomable expectations. 

Once the Professor made him realise this, he was left with a void. One he hasn’t been able to fill. And seeing that his sword is all the comfort he’s ever known, he’s been allowing that to be his main purpose since the war ended. But it doesn’t work; it doesn’t replace that hole inside. 

It’s not that he believes Ashe will be the one to fill it. On the contrary, it’s because he has this gaping emptiness, he knows that no matter how much he may care for the man, there is a roadblock. Ashe has always had aims and goals, has done so since Felix first met him. Yet Felix does not, and he doesn’t know what he’ll be doing with himself next moon, next year, three years from now. 

He has his duties, he cares for his people and his lands, but he doesn’t feel like they are in the same moment, his drive. He’s not worked out a way to carve a life for himself, to be himself, while all his friends have made steps to be who they are now. He is in stasis, and because of this very fact, there is no use in him telling Ashe how he feels. 

He doesn’t have anything but his swords and an empty house, this restlessness he doesn’t understand, and his blooming care for Ashe. They do not necessarily mesh and he cannot force them to align, so how—

“Felix?” Ingrid says, interrupting his avalanche of increasingly perplexing thoughts, and he looks up to see her now clearly worrying about him. 

It doesn’t matter, he supposes, whether he admits it or not. The truth of what he feels has nothing to do with whether it’s realistic, after all. There’s no harm in saying it at least once. 

“I care for him. Like him. Whatever you want to call it,” he says, waving his hand around and acting as if this truly encompasses the grandeur of what he feels, but thankfully Dorothea simply laughs. 

“Well, now you’ve said it, we can help you do something about it. Seeing as there is the perfect opportunity during tomorrow’s final night celebration. Where they'll be feasting, merriment... and _dancing_ ,” she says, drawing out the final word with glee. 

Felix takes it back. There is apparently a lot of harm in admitting his feelings. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter is currently in draft at a ridiculous 10K word count. Don't ask how it's doubled in size. 
> 
> So more coming very soon! Thank you again for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t miss the outfit, at least?” he asks, and Felix narrows his eyes. 
> 
> “No. I burnt it,” he says and Ashe laughs, throwing his head back, and the sound is so free, a little too loud for the room and the sentence, so much so that it must be true. 
> 
> It’s the laugh that does it; so far from the usual chuckle Felix receives that it throws his caution and nerves away, gives him that forwardness usually reserved for swordplay. 
> 
> “Dance with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, the final chapter!
> 
> This has been a joy to write and cemented that I am hopelessly gone for these two. So I hope you enjoy where this ends, and know there is 100% more Ashelix coming from me very soon. 
> 
> Valania, thank you so much for betaing this monster, and all the cheering from start to finish. Couldn't have done this without you!

The final day dawns, and Felix finds himself pacing his quarters. He’s mostly packed, as they will be returning to the Capital early, Ingrid apparently having to report directly to Dimitri once this week has passed. Yet he also has his... outfit for the evening hanging in the closet, a sense of dread crossing his mind whenever he passes by mid pace. 

He’s never liked these types of events; they’ve always had a sense of wastefulness to them, the excess in outfits, consumption, and time when there have always been far more pressing things to attend to. He supposes now that is less so, but he cannot help in thinking that his evening could be better spent in any sense. 

It doesn’t matter though, this dance and dinner will occur, and he will endure. Except it has almost this additional pressure thanks to his friend’s intervention yesterday. Now he has a motivation for attending, and he almost wishes he didn’t. 

It is, he has to admit, a classically romantic setting. Felix is no stranger to asking another to dance, has done so many a time throughout his life, most of the time being told beforehand exactly whom he should be aiming to dance with. Although many find the activity diverting, he’s really only ever used it in a political sense. 

But there is no need to do that tonight. Of course, he’ll dance with Petra at some point, but he knows her, and it’s hardly for any motivation at this point. He’ll ask Ingrid to dance because he knows she hates it, and Dorothea because she loves it and is an excellent partner, and Ashe—

Felix swallows, and sits down heavily on the bed. 

He hates this feeling. Possibly more than any others he’s experienced in these past few days. These rush and bursts of energy that climb from his centre through his throat, his fingers twitching and feet pacing, uncontrollable in their need to move and twitch until he has exhausted the surge. 

He has spent years training himself to be in control of his faculties; it’s essential in swordsmanship to understand his own body, to master its tells and know the way it twists, aches, and pounces. These nervous flares and spikes when thinking of this evening are the antithesis; uncontrollable, hitting without warning, and barely having an outlet. 

Sentiment. Always as confusing as ever to Felix, no matter how many years pass. He tips back on the bed, sinks into softness before rising once more, head twisting to find a comfortable position. 

“Dancing,” he mutters, and stares to his left, cataloguing the scatterings of belongings he has still not managed to pack yet. It’s not quite organised chaos, but there is a method to it, he just cannot seem to explain it to anyone with a tidy mind. 

He stands, restless once more, and in need of a distraction before he spirals into another loop of frustrated musings. He opens his other pack and begins with the heaviest items, trying to mirror Sylvain’s technique of rolling fabrics in the gaps, although it doesn’t seem to reduce the bulk. 

He picks up a shirt, angles his head to decide where it would be fit, when he catches sight of the tailoring on the cuff, a strange pattern he does not recognise. He blinks, holding it up to the light in confusion, then almost drops it when he recalls exactly why he has a foreign shirt. 

It’s Ashe’s. He hadn’t returned it after the swift healing he’d received on entry to the manor, and it looked as if the castle staff had been kind enough to wash it free of the specks of blood and grime Felix is most certain it collected originally. 

He abandons his packing in favour of staring at the shirt, opening it up fully to inspect. It is just a shirt, a piece of fabric. Yet when he recalls the ease of which Ashe passed it over, the way it had sat unevenly on his frame, a similar size but still not quite right, his chest tightens without warning. 

It’s softer, he notices now. Ashe’s shirt is somehow softer, perhaps in the material or perhaps with wear. He rubs the fabric between his thumb and forefinger for a second, trying to capture exactly what it is that’s so different about it. 

“Felix! Are you packed yet, do you need help?” 

He drops the shirt and glares at the door, Ingrid’s voice and knock echoing around the room. Gritting his teeth, he stalks over and pulls the handle abruptly, Ingrid looking slightly alarmed at his expression. 

“I am not ten, I do not need help from you,” he says and Ingrid blinks back. 

“And yet you have clothes and books on the floor,” she says drily, and Felix, being the adult he is, closes the door in her face. 

“Come down for a ride when you’re done,” she calls. 

“No,” he yells back and wraps Ashe’s shirt as quickly as he can in something resembling a tube and placing it beside his bag, before rolling up his own shirts in a similar fashion and still managing to make his bag bulge. He’ll return Ashe’s shirt before they leave tomorrow. 

He does, despite his protests, go for a ride with Ingrid, manage to finalise arrangements for the sword he ordered, and ends up striking the basics of a new agreement to get more lumber delivered to Fraldarius with one of the merchants. 

All in all, his day passes in the blink of an eye, and before he knows it, he’s standing in his room with, strangely enough, Dorothea next to him. She’s fully ready, as striking as ever in a burgundy gown, delicate strips of silver hanging from her ears which are understated but lovely, and Felix knows they are a gift from Ingrid. Her hair waves in what looks to the untrained eye as an effortless fall of nature, when in reality mostly likely took some time. What he doesn’t understand is why she is brandishing a hairbrush at him. 

“I didn’t let you touch my hair at the academy, why the hell would you think I’d change my mind now?” he says, but she stares back defiantly. 

“Were you trying to impress anyone? And if you’d let me, you might have done sooner,” she says with a sly grin, then laughs unabashedly. 

“Come on, Felix. Indulge me. Get changed and I’ll do your hair. It’s so long now, it’s craving someone to actually take care of it,” she says, and Felix huffs before going to his closet. 

“I take care of it fine,” he says, and Dorothea giggles. 

“I can see a few split ends,” she says, then moves into the bathroom to give him privacy. 

He rolls his eyes even though she can’t see. As he changes, he remembers that night in the inn, Ashe commenting on how he shouldn’t cut his hair. He takes it down from the tie, letting it fall past his shoulders. It seems... vain, stupid to be getting hung up on this type of frivolty.

“Are you ready yet?” Dorothea calls. 

He doesn’t answer her, and walks to the dresser, staring at his reflection. The outfit looks fine, one he’s worn before, so he knows it will suit this occasion. The jacket is a simple midnight blue, tailored with a scattering of turquoise embroidery around the edges. Simple dark, tailored trousers and a white high collared shirt finished the look. Nothing spectacular, but elegant in itself. 

He waits a little, just enough time to annoy Dorothea a little more, then calls to her. She enters with a glare, fully knowing what he’s done, but it softens when she sees him. 

“You look very dashing. And my, your hair really is long. Lots to work with,” she says, before moving closer, and patting the chair before the dresser. Felix approaches wearily, still unsure. 

“It’s not going to bite. Sit or we’ll be late,” she says, and Felix obliges, albeit slowly. Dorothea tuts, but says nothing, hand hovering over his hair as she meets his eyes in the mirror. It’s an ask and he nods jerkily, and she gives him a far softer smile than previously, before her face morphs into a seriousness. 

“What do you want to do with it? Not too elaborate, I know. But anything you want to try?” she asks, clearly having some idea, but wanting him to lead. That feeling from before rises though, and he looks away. 

“It’s just hair, I don’t care about this type of silly thing. There are more important things to worry about,” he says. 

Dorothea stays silent for a moment, but he can feel her still segmenting his hair lightly. 

“I think there are very few things more important than taking time to do something lighthearted. To dress up. To dance. To sing. To change your hair. A few hours to let ourselves be free from duty or responsibility, as long as it’s appropriate. We all need time to relax. Or it makes what we need to do that much harder,” she says, deliberate and paced. 

Her words scatter around him, his eyes drawn to the ornate wood of the dresser. She says it so simply, so easily, as if she’s not trying to battle against so many years of built up ideals. He’d not lied so many years ago when he’d told the Professor that he’d learned to swing a sword before he could write his own name. Dances were for duty, as were all things. 

But Felix never liked duty, lost the illusion of knighthood and purpose from a young age. Even now, he struggles seeing Ingrid’s pride in her position, in the way she has managed to weave her life into a template of something that simultaneously shatters and makes her own in the same breath. 

Maybe it is too difficult, maybe it is too hard to undo all these years and generations of tradition, but he wants to. Wants to find that place he can call his own, find a reason to push with all the might that he has. To understand what it is like to truly know who he is when he is not fighting. Whether that is from enemies, assassins, or his own mind which still tells him he must follow one path or obliterate it. 

He wants to believe an evening of respite is healthy and deserved. So he, much like with all his wants for so long, in order to make it happen, forces it. He inhales, then looks back up, the jerk of his head disturbing Dorothea in it’s suddenness. 

“I want to leave some of it down. And nothing ridiculous,” he adds, giving into those words Ashe spoke to him. 

Dorothea grins, then dips down to lean on his shoulders, which he frowns at even as he endures. 

“Oh, I have a good idea of exactly what to do,” she says, and Felix cannot say he is comforted by that, but he has made his choice, so tries to relax as Dorothea begins her work. 

* * *

“Wow, Felix your hair is wonderful,” Ingrid says, the smile and way her eyes dart to the style making him sure it’s a truthful compliment. And like with all such honest commentary, he isn’t quite sure what to do with it, so clears his throat as he feels heat rise to his face. 

“Your wife-to-be is skilled,” he says and Ingrid laughs. 

“I’m aware, her and Petra are good at this... hair thing,” she says, waving her hand at her own short locks, which have been curled in an artistic way, then half pulled back, probably so she doesn’t spend the whole night distracted by her own hair. 

Felix chuckles and nods, knowing much like himself, she doesn’t really care to spend effort other than what’s required on her appearance. But she does keep looking at the style as they walk, until he turns to face her. 

“What?” he says, annoyed. 

She smiles though, not in the least perturbed. “You look good. I think Ashe will agree,” she says, quietly, and this time he really does blush to the roots of said styled hair. 

Dorothea did exactly as instructed, for it is almost all down and it’s not too elaborate. It’s simply pulled back by a small braid which begins at the leftmost corner of his hairline, and fixed after a few knots with invisible pins that he can sort of feel, but cannot for the life of him see. It means he only has one side of his hair to fiddle with, as much like Ingrid, he is tempted to play with any hair that crosses his eye line. So, currently, the right side is tucked behind his ear, out of the way for as long as he can make it. 

“Just hair, and that’s not the point,” he mutters, turning away, and Ingrid thankfully drops it in favour of walking further into the manor ballroom. 

It’s not a full ballroom the likes of which are seen at the Palace, but a large open space that has been edged with chairs for those who would like to sit as staff pass by with drinks and canapes. The food will be small but frequent, as is the nature of these nights, and although it is a reception with a Queen, it is still a laid-back affair. From what he knows of Petra, that seems more her style. 

On Ingrid’s insistence, they get drinks then go hunting a very specific set of canapes she needs to eat, which is about as amusing as it sounds, especially when one server actually restricts how many she can take at one time. She tries to bribe him into silence, but Felix just continues to laugh, knowing he’ll be recounting this to Sylvain and Annette as soon as he has the chance. 

Felix is stopped by the ambassador he saved, and there is a toast raised by the group surrounding in his honour. 

“There shall be many more of these tonight, but I wanted to add my personal thanks,” he confides, and Felix nods, giving his thanks but not looking forward to potentially many more of such offerings. 

However, it seems that despite the excuse to celebrate, most people in attendance are not in the mood for extravagance, so they are mostly stopped by small groups who toast or pray for their health, making less of a scene than he imagined. It is actually fairly enjoyable, as much of this week has proved to be, but the amount of people stopping them means it’s some time before they spy familiar places. 

“There’s Petra, let’s go,” Ingrid says once they are excused, and Felix goes along, not really paying attention until he looks up and sees that of course, Petra is not alone. As they step determinedly towards her, his eyes are drawn in particular to one figure standing to her left. 

Ashe’s back is half turned to Felix, so he does not see their approach. Felix takes in his side profile though as Ingrid drags him forward, for once grateful for this. Ashe’s outfit, like all of theirs, is nothing extravagant: he’s added a waistcoat which Felix prefers not to wear, seeming too close to his old school uniform. His outfit is black with no decoration other than an emblem on his lapel which indicates his status as a Knight. Felix smiles to himself, hiding it in his drink as they near. It is warming to see Ashe so proud of achieving his goal. 

“Ah, there you are!” Dorothea calls, turning from Petra to greet both of them. 

“Felix, Ingrid. You are both looking wonderful,” she says and they both bow, Felix’s hair draping over his shoulder, causing him to have to brush it back with slight annoyance on standing. 

As he moves he ends up twisting slightly and comes face to face with Ashe. Felix knew he was standing there, had been taking in his frame barely a minute past, but still it is a suddenness, a shocking jolt to his limbs, not unlike the commencement of a thunder spell. 

Those eyes, once more giving him romantic inclinations that he doesn’t know how to categorize, isn’t enough of a wordsmith to give them any meaning other than _ alive _ in just how bright they seem to shine against the darkness of his outfit. Ashe stares, unblinking, and Felix is used to being scrutinised and studied in all he does but not in this respect. Whatever it might be. 

“Hey, Felix,” he says, quiet, but may as well have been shouted for it’s the only sound he can hear above the laughter and talk of the room. 

“Ashe,” he says, with a small nod and a lift of his glass, sipping his drink because he has absolutely no idea what to do or say. 

But it somehow works, as Ashe tracks the movement, and Felix can no longer deny that this isn’t thrilling, isn’t making the night open up into exceptional possibilities despite his initial hesitation. 

The moment is broken when Petra appears at his side with the ambassador, the two whisking him off for a formal thank you with her aides before he has time to say a word further. He does however, give one more glance over his shoulder. Sure enough, Ashe is still watching him, his cheeks lighting up as Felix discovers, turning away swiftly to face Ingrid. 

The night is adequate. He knows he’ll never really enjoy these things, but Dorothea’s words from earlier do seem to have worked, and he is able to forget somewhat. It doesn’t quite remove the notion that he should be doing a more crucial task, but when he’s occupied by the more interesting of talks, he is able to let go. 

Dorothea finds him almost as soon as the music starts up. 

“No,” he says as she walks over, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. 

“Are you going to reject a lady who asks you to dance?” she says, mock insulted. 

“If it’s you, yes. Ingrid is literally over there,” he says and she continues to stare him down. 

“But somehow, you are the best dancer here, and I want at least a few decent songs. I love Ingrid, but she does step on my toes every time,” Dorothea says with a fond sigh and Felix resigns himself to being one of the first on the dance-floor. 

Felix generally prefers doing things well, has never had much patience for spending time doing something without purpose, and anything he deems worthy to excel at, he spends time doing so to perfection. Dancing, he hasn’t ever wanted to master per se, but seeing as being a noble involves attending such events, he decided long ago he may as well be good at it. 

And it does help having Dorothea as his partner, whose skills are fantastic. They strangely have a habit of trying to trip each other in steps or movements, resulting in a tendency to become a little wild in their dances, especially on occasions where they’ve been deep in their cups. 

Tonight is not quite on that level, but they do manage at least four dances by Felix's account before Ingrid cuts in, both of them slightly winded. 

“Okay, you’ve shown off enough, my turn,” she says, and Dorothea’s smile seems almost too private for him to witness, so Felix leaves them without a word, heading to get another drink. 

As he does, Ashe comes into view waving, a more standard tone to their interactions, which gives Felix a little more steadiness than before, slipping into old routines, even with the spark of more swimming through. 

“You haven’t lost your touch, I see,” Ashe chuckles, and Felix grimaces. 

“I’d hardly say it’s my best skill,” he says and Ashe tips his head, questioning but still with that barely there smile, which still lightens his face as a whole. 

“I’d disagree, you were a dancer at school,” he reminds and Felix clenches his teeth. 

“Please do not remind me,” he says and Ashe’s smile turns teasing. 

“You don’t miss the outfit, at least?” he asks, and Felix narrows his eyes. 

“No. I burnt it,” he says and Ashe laughs, throwing his head back, and the sound is so free, a little too loud for the room and the sentence, so much so that it must be true. 

It’s the laugh that does it; so far from the usual chuckle Felix receives that it throws his caution and nerves away, gives him that forwardness usually reserved for swordplay. 

“Dance with me.” 

Ashe stops laughing abruptly, and Felix thinks for a moment he’s spoken out of turn, but after just a few seconds of strained quiet Ashe puts down his drink and waits. Felix turns, and walks towards the dance floor. 

It’s probably the most awkward proposition anyone has ever given, but the thought of taking Ashe’s hand and leading him is simply beyond what Felix’s wits can cope with. However, Ashe does follow, so once they are a small way in, Felix spins, and Ashe steps up. 

This time, Felix does hold out his hands, a testament to the years of training as to how they do not shake. Ashe takes them, and Felix gives himself one exhale, just as his brother taught him to do before striking with his sword, before he steps forward, beginning a slow rotation. 

Ashe follows nimbly and the dance begins, weaving around others who dance with varying skills and styles in the crowded room. Ashe is not a bad dancer, he has good rhythm and movement, but it’s too stiff and rigid. 

“Loosen up, it will make the steps easier. Don’t look at your feet, makes you more likely to trip,” Felix says, as they pass another couple stepping widely and causing him to have to grip Ashe closer in order to pass without a collision. 

“I’m not sure how I’m meant to know where my feet go without looking at them,” Ashe mutters, looking down as he speaks, head rushing back up when Felix tuts. 

With the new position, they are extremely close. So close, Felix notices the spread of Ashe’s freckles, pronounced in the amber light of the room. Are there more than he recalls? It is approaching summer, it makes sense they would multiply. He has the sudden urge to count, to know the changes of his skin; a new, better way to mark the passing of time. 

He notices the blush form because he’s staring so much, therefore clears his throat before he can be discovered.

“Just trust me to lead. I know well enough,” he says, voice sticking a little. 

“I do trust you,” Ashe says, softly like a secret between them, and Felix gulps, unsure for a moment how to take the next step. 

The song changes, a blessed distraction as they fall into the new rhythm, and manoeuvre their way between the partners coming and going around them. Once they are settled, Felix feels less unsure, and something about the way they have been dancing for so long with nothing too amiss makes his yearn for conversation. 

“What are you doing, when we go back?” he says. 

Ashe blinks, the sudden shift definitely random. He pauses for a second. 

“I have some work to finish off with Mercedes. And I’ll be returning to castle Gaspard soon,” he says, but the words seem constructed with care, and Felix stiffens a little, his grip of Ashe’s hands tightening as the mood changes. 

The music saunters between them, and Ashe stiffens against Felix, looks away once, then back again, clearly about to speak. But the words bubble out of Felix without control, his tendency to speak in the moment coming out. 

“How long were you in Fraldarius when you worked with Mercedes?” 

Ashe actually stumbles then, Felix grabbing into him to make sure they do not crash into anyone else as they lose the rhythm they’d spent so long acquiring. They get back on track and Felix feels Ashe’s body move as he inhales. 

“A few moons. You weren’t there, when I first arrived,” he says, slowly, but still getting to the crux of Felix’s feelings. 

He knows this is awkward, he’s not immune to these types of situations; but Felix has no idea how to defuse it, so he continues onward, a boulder in free-fall. 

“And then I returned,” he says, and it sounds as petulant as it is, so much so that they’ve practically stopped dancing, more swaying vaguely. 

“Are you upset I didn’t say anything?” Ashe says, frowning and Felix knows he has a choice. He could say so, even if it’s sounds needy and strange, could admit why he’s been building this up in his head for so long, and yet—

“No, I’m not,” is what comes out of his mouth and he wants to pull it back in, but in truth, what else would he say? 

Because despite all the coaxing from his friends and the tiny little chips in his thinking, it still boils down to the same thing. He doesn’t believe it will do any good, and he doesn’t know how to explain how torn he is in caring so much and also having no idea how to move forward with that. 

So he lets go. They stop dancing and Ashe’s face falls, which he cannot bear to watch, so he walks away, and Ashe lets him, which helps nothing and no one, but it’s most likely for the best. 

Felix walks straight outside, as far as he can go, past revellers and lovers outside for fresh air and secrecy. He doesn’t go too far, but enough that he feels away, sitting on a low wall and staring up at the sky as the breeze picks up. He remembers the conversation on stargazing merely a few nights ago, and if he closes his eyes he can remember two different types of affection. 

The first being wrapped up in a blanket, sitting on his mother’s lap as she teaches him constellation names, the sound of his and Glenn’s voices repeating them, testing the unfamiliar sounds and syllables. The second is, of course, Ashe leaning against him, warm as he says the same old names, deeper and with confidence, passing on that knowledge in a way it was first given to him. 

“Felix.” 

The voice belongs to none of the people in his memories, and he opens his eyes slowly. There’s a crunch of gravel and Ingrid comes to sit beside him. She says nothing, the two looking vaguely upwards, before he tips his head backwards. 

“How do you erase what came before?” he asks. 

He hopes he doesn’t have to elaborate. It’s the only sentence which makes sense to express how he’s feeling, what he’s struggling with, and has been for so long. 

“You don’t,” Ingrid says, and he turns to face her. She fiddles with the ring on her finger, the sapphire darker in the half light. 

“I can’t erase what I was brought up to think marriage was. I can’t forget how I lost so much, or how I conducted myself when that happened. And I can’t change our childhoods and the things we’ve seen and done,” she says. 

Felix exhales and shuts his eyes for a second. “How are you still going, then?” he asks, the bitterness in his voice so clear but he doesn’t care. 

Her hand on his leg forces him to turn back to her, and she squeezes his knee before drawing away. 

“It’s not about getting rid of it. It’s about reshaping. You have to remember what we experienced, what we were told, to know why it was wrong. You have to undo those ideals in the present so no one else has to experience them. And you have to start by thinking of what you want, and making it happen,” she says with a pointed look. 

Felix smiles, without humour. “That’s the issue. I don’t think I can do any of those things,” he says. He still hates admitting weakness, even though he knows now it doesn’t diminish who he is. 

“Of course you can. It’s hard, believe me. But I know you, Felix. You never back down,” she says, but he stands, suddenly tired. 

“This isn’t the same as... a battle or an argument. It’s not... it just doesn’t work like that,” he says, losing patience with his own mind, and ability to put these things in words, pulling at his hair in frustration, a nervous habit he gained long ago, and one of the main reasons he doesn’t ever have his hair down. He gives himself a moment, and then turns back, Ingrid looking at him sadly. 

“I know. You don’t have to figure it out tonight. But the point is trying and making steps. Like the first time you tried to do a spell,” she says, and he snorts with laughter, tension broken. 

“Really?” he says, and Ingrid laughs. 

“It’s one of the few memories I have of you at school not being perfect, let me keep it. Between you and his highness being fantastic at sparing, and Sylvain’s top marks in every exam, I need that,” she says, and he rolls his eyes. 

“As if you don’t know how good you are at flying,” he says and Ingrid smiles, brighter than he would have expected, and it occurs that she doesn’t always know, doesn’t always see what he does. And he’s not the best at offering comfort, even to his friends, or reassurance in things that matter. 

He opens his mouth to try and utter a semblance of support, when the sound of gravel moving under feet makes them both turn. Felix’s eyes widen as Ashe comes into view, actually stepping back once in surprise. 

Ingrid gets up, and grasps his shoulder in encouragement as she walks by. She speaks to Ashe as she passes, a short mumbled exchange, then they both carry on to their destinations, while Felix, still rooted by his surprise, await’s Ashe’s arrival. 

It’s still tense, but strangely there is an air of potential between them, the very fact that Ashe has come out here opening a door he felt he’d bolted shut. Ashe gives him a half grin and Felix tries to give a smile in return but isn’t sure his face muscles obey. 

He is thankful then, when Ashe starts the conversation. “You didn’t tell me what you were doing after this,” he says, and Felix tips his head upwards. 

“I don’t know,” he says, with more feeling than the question warrants, taking air into his lungs, then looking back to Ashe. 

“It’s okay to not know what you want,” Ashe says, soft and vanishing into the night, and Felix grinds his teeth in frustration because even he can realise the emphasis has fallen on the wrong issue. 

“That’s not it,” he snaps, then turns red with a violent force, the intense heat in his cheeks making him almost dizzy, and he hopes the night is somewhat concealing. He composes himself with a speed of years of practice, and looks back at Ashe, who looks confused once more. 

“I don’t know where I’ll be going. I don’t know what...I don’t know what will happen when I leave. Or where I’ll need to go. I’m not a Knight, I follow my sword where it’s needed,” he says.

“You could be a Knight, if you wanted to you. But if you wanted to, you’d already be one,” Ashe says, stepping forward, their similar heights meaning they are eye to eye, could be toe to toe if just a little closer. 

Felix agrees with a sharp nod. Ashe takes it in, and then sighs. 

“It sounds tiring. You asked earlier, why I didn’t come and visit. And I thought about it, honestly, I wanted to. But I was never sure you’d be there. It’s happened before, you were near Gaspard last year, but left before I even caught wind of it. You move constantly, following your sword, as you said. Don’t you miss your home?” he asks. 

“Not in the same way others seem to. It’s never… it’s just a place,” he says. 

“Then where is home?” Ashe counters, pushing, as he usually does, quietly but insistently, imploring, almost, so Felix doesn’t feel cornered, but is compelled to answer all the same. 

“I cannot remember. It was there, in the past but now I... another thing I don’t know,” he says, crossing his arms in frustration. He feels tired even thinking about it, and it harks back to Ashe’s original question. 

It is exhausting. Maybe years ago, it would have seemed logical that he’d fight for a living but that was before he fought for his life. 

“Home changes, Felix. I’ve had many. It’s not a building, as you said. You’ll find out what it is, and what it means. But from what you told me, you were loved there. Your mother taught you to stargaze, your brother taught you to read, your father taught you to walk. All in that place,” he says. 

Felix just stands there, staring amazed by those choices of memories. Nothing of the sword, nothing of being a Duke, nothing of his life now. But Ashe continues, does not allow him to falter on just this. 

“Places have bad and the good in them. But they also have a future. And you do return home, even if I can’t keep track of when. Those things are difficult, I know. But it’s okay to take your time and to work out what you need,” he says, almost a mirror of Ingrid. 

“But just know there are people here who care where you end up. Whether you’re staying still or moving. Just... don’t be a stranger,” Ashe finishes, with what Felix knows is a false smile. 

He nods, and then Ashe leaves. For these is nothing more to say, nothing more to do. For either of them.

* * *

The ride back is strange. It’s not awkward, more deflated between them all as they leave. Dorothea, Ingrid, and Ashe all head to the capital to see the King, while Felix rides on with his soldiers. A week later and he’s back in the Manor, without any changes that he can see. 

Back to a frozen place, a frozen time. 

He stares out of the window on the morning he arrives, watches the sunrise as they’d chosen to ride through the night to make their homeward journey sooner. He’s given the soldiers the week off, who both tried to protest, but it’s been hard riding and hardly the best use of their skills. This way, they can see their families and rest. 

As the sun climbs, he starts to unpack the few gifts he has from the well wishes or Petra’s court. He’s not one for trinkets unless they are swords, but really, it is... nice to see them. He sorts through his clothes until he picks up the sleeve of a white shirt, and his heart simply drops. 

He hadn’t given it back. In the haste of the departure and the strangeness of his parting with Ashe, he’d simply packed the shirt away. Combined with the spices and tea gifts which sit on his bed, he simply gives up and stares at the three objects. They seem to taunt him for his indecision, his lack of courage and swirling confusion. He twists the shirt between his hands and sits down, careful not to squash the packages. 

Why has it come to this? Why is he so tied in knots he cannot see what direction anything moves in? This is so unlike him, and yet—

Perhaps it’s not. He’s been thrown off his feet by others before, it’s simply this combination of uncertainty which is rooting him, rather than plowing forward without care. Perhaps it’s specifically those words Ashe spoke to him many nights ago now which have him stalling. 

_ “Places have bad and the good in them. But they also have a future.” _

He looks up at the window as he says this, taking in the barren room he’s been cycling in and out of for the past few years. Apart from the mess which is his version of unpacking, there is very little here. One functional sword, one dagger under his pillow, a glass of extremely old water on his bedside table, and a book. 

The book. The one Ashe had given to him for his birthday years ago. He leans over, picks it up and flicks through the pages, indented from his favourites, a little weathered from travelling with him in his younger days. 

“Where are the rest?” he mutters without thinking, then slowly puts down the book.

Then, he gets up as if in a trance, walks to the closet, and throws the doors open. He spies what he’s looking for at the back, and heaves, a medium sized traveling trunk coming with him. It’s not that heavy, probably about half full, and covered with a layer of dust. He hesitates just for a second, then throws it open, as if expecting an attack from the inside. 

And there, nestled in, are  _ things _ . 

His Garreg Mach uniform, minus the boots he threw away when he wore holes in them. The cursed dancer uniform which he honestly should have burned. His certifications, rolled up with the ribbon still tied. Two battered text books, one on magic and another on sword formation, still, he thinks, with his own notes marking the pages. His academic year before the world fell apart summarised in pieces. 

He sits down heavily beside the floor, taking each piece out, revealing the layers underneath. He inhales, shaking a little as he picks up a stack of letters. All from his father, generic asks of his welfare during his time at the academy. He doesn’t know why he’s kept them, why he kept them before, let alone now. He puts them aside; he’s not ready to start reading anything yet. 

There are other letters, some from Sylvain during the five years before the reunion, and some from before that time, when they were younger, handwriting worse and loopy, spelling mistakes rampant. There’s letters from Annette, scraps of songs she would show him then discard, but he’d keep in case she suddenly thought of the next piece. Reminders from Ingrid, mostly to do things, and he remembers posting similar things to her, a weird tradition they picked up to deal with how each time they spoke their words became knives. 

Outside of papers, there are a pair of woollen gloves Mercedes made when he lost one of his during a watch turned fight. They’re still soft, still warm to the touch, and he takes them out to make sure he uses them. A painting Bernadetta had given him as a thank you for something he doesn’t remember, small and bright which makes him smile. A recipe from Dedue. Felix takes it out, a bile in his stomach rising. There’s much regret there, but as Ingrid said; the point is to understand and undo the systems. 

And then, there are older things. Very few, for these are what he took with him to the monastery. A picture drawn by Dimitri, stick figures of the four of them in the time before the tragedy of Duscur. Glenn’s spur, which he’d clung onto since he found it barely a moon after his passing. A necklace that was his mother’s; a small silver chain with a tiny star charm on it. He has a feeling he and Glenn ‘bought’ it for a birthday when he was very small. Without thinking, he fiddles with the tiny clasp for a second, loops it over his own neck, the pendant cool where it touches the hollow of his chest as it slides under his shirt. 

He lets it settle then looks at the final few objects. He pulls out a portrait, and grins, smile wobbling even if he doesn’t want to admit it. It’s he and Glenn, Glenn holding him on his lap as a toddler, Glenn’s hair so long it rivals his own now. He cannot remember sitting for this, he’s a baby and Glenn must be about nine years old, but it makes him feel safe. It’s why he kept it for so long, why he brought it with him.

And it was made in this house. In the main room downstairs that Felix never uses as it’s too large for one or two people, but it contains fragments of these times. He puts down the portrait and breathes in. Breathes in time and memories, space and years of life that occurred here before it became stagnant and cold. 

Ashe was right. Is usually right. This place has bad and good in it, like life and everything it throws at Felix. And he can shape which path he takes next. As it turns out, Felix has been storing up a home, in the pieces he’s collected and kept locked up, waiting for a moment where it’s right to start laying them down, when it’s safe, when he’s ready. 

Maybe that time has finally come. 

* * *

Sylvain arrives by the end of the week. Felix isn’t surprised, his best friend has this habit of showing up just when he’s needed, not necessarily wanted. He hugs Felix as if it’s been years and not weeks, which he endures, before pushing him away. 

“You have a lot to explain,” he says, sharp as a knife, and Sylvain holds up his hands. 

“Hey, hello, it’s nice to see you too,” he says and Felix just tuts. 

“Hello, Sylvain. Want to explain what you were trying to do with having Ashe accompany me?” he says, striding into the parlour, where tea is already waiting. 

“Having a Knight of the Kingdom, and an old friend accompany you on a treacherous journey?” Sylvain says and Felix glares. 

“Hardly treacherous,” he scoffs. 

“I heard you got stabbed,” he says with a grin as he puts a whole cake in his mouth. Felix’s face curves in disgust at the action, and he sits without responding to Sylvain. 

“Urg, fine. I don’t need to spell it out, Felix. The fact that you brought it up means you know why I did it,” he says, taking his own seat. 

“Did you arrange the inn, too?” he asks bitterly. 

“What inn?” Sylvain says, seeming genuinely puzzled and Felix decides to keep that secret with him. 

There’s silence as they pour the tea, Felix sipping it carefully as Sylvain takes another cake, not bothered by the silence. 

“Wait, is that the sword I got you?” Sylvain asks suddenly. 

Felix turns as Sylvain stands and marches over to the wall, the twin swords set on the wall. He hums in agreement as Sylvain stares. One was a gift from Byleth when they won the war, another Sylvain had given him for his birthday. A set, rare and peculiar, more ornametary than functional. He likes them, and seeing as he’s been turning the manor inside out looking for things, as soon as he’d seen them he knew he had to display them. 

Sylvain turns on his heel and stares at him. 

“Huh,” he says, cocking his head to one side. 

“What?” Felix grumbles as Sylvain walks back, spring in his step. 

“Something happened. You’re... different,” he says. 

“I can’t change in such little time, Sylvain,” Felix says with a roll of his eyes, but doesn’t deny it. 

Sylvain stares as he drinks, until Felix huffs and shakes his head. 

“Fine. Ashe...said something to me. It made me think,” he says, unsure if he can say anymore, if there is anything he’s ready to reveal. 

Sylvain places the cup down and grins widely. 

“I knew it!” he cries and Felix groans, not looking at him. 

“The swords look great,” Sylvain adds, tone softer, and causing Felix's face to heat. They had been gifts, wonderful gifts if he’s honest, and he still doesn’t know how to deal with their existence and the people who gave them. 

So, in the quiet, he finishes his tea, takes the few snacks he likes and watches Sylvain demolish the ones he doesn’t. 

“Sooo… you gonna tell me what happened?” Sylvain says, leaning forward. 

“What’s to say if there’s anything to tell?” Felix remarks, and Sylvain groans. 

“Felix Hugo Fraldarius, you have swords up that were gifts, you’re wearing a necklace and you never wear jewellery, and you’re smiling. Well okay, you’re kinda smiling, but still. Something happened. Don’t hold out on me, I’ve never held out on you,” Sylvain says with a pout as if this is something they’re confessing as teenagers, 

Another lost moment. Another lost factor of youth replaced by war and death that Felix is reliving as an adult when really he should have experienced all this long ago. But, he’s been learning in the rush of these past few days, it’s okay to have delayed reactions. 

_ “It’s okay to take your time.” _

“I never asked to hear about you and Dimitri,” he reminds, and Sylvain shakes his head. 

“And yet you listened. So here I am, too. Listening,” he says, leaning forward on his elbows. 

It makes him cave, so quickly he should be embarrassed but he’s not anymore. These things, he thinks, are easier once started. 

“Fine. But the necklace was my mother’s, it’s nothing to do with this,” he says, and Sylvain’s look is warm and happy, happy for him and it makes Felix feel strange and alert to emotions he’s not sure he fully understands now. 

“Yes! Okay, but we need wine for this type of talk. And lots of it.” 

Felix regrets it in the morning, when his head pounds with every step he takes, and he waves his best friend off with a grimace and Sylvain laughs at his hungover self. 

“You really, really need to go see Ashe. Promise me you will? And for the what..sixth time, make sure you grow your beard when you see him,” he says and Felix immediately yanks at his leg so he almost topples off his horse, laughing all the while, a move he’s been pulling on Sylvain since he was tall enough to reach. 

But it does feel lighter, feel better. The house feels better if he’s honest, the pieces of himself he’s kept stored and locked away now lining the rooms he uses the most. This place will always be too grand; Felix isn’t one for large buildings and useless space, but that can be sorted later. For now, he marks the places he loves and needs, airing them of ghosts and lost hours. 

He still isn’t sure what to do next, but he does know he can return. It’s why he always has come back here, in a way. Here, his brother told him he could be a swordsman, but also told him he didn’t need to be anyone but himself. Here, his father praised him when he could name all the Kingdom banners, even if their understanding diverged in years to come. Here are his memories of his mother, all of the few he has and clings onto like stardust as the years past. 

It’s worth returning to. It’s worth making something of. 

At some point, he’ll need to return to the Capital. He is a servant of the crown after all, though no summons have come his way. He thinks it won’t for a while, if Sylvain has anything to do with it. He receives a letter stating his new sword will arrive in a week, so he occupies himself with local tasks until then. It’s good, he finds, to immerse himself in the welfare of his territory. Not that he was neglectful before, he does take the care of his people seriously. He’s just not focused on it as his main priority, and finds himself helping in areas he hadn’t ever thought would be his responsibility. 

And it’s good. It’s nice. Fast paced but also not, occupying his mind but not his whole self. Perhaps, despite it all, being a Duke is not a torture. But that’s as he’s changing things for him, and not for another. 

He is given notice of a rider approaching one morning as he reads through papers on a new set of houses they are planning to build in the west of the territory. He blinks, vision swimming with numbers and scales, before standing and stretching, back clicking in a way which cannot be good. 

As has become a habit, he ventures to the roof. Not many messages have arrived since Sylvain’s departure, but he’s finding himself tracing the steps up to the rooftop each time, as well whenever he is at a loss of what to do. The summer has fully set, meaning the breeze is pleasant and Felix can see the world spreading before him, clear and wide, inviting and enchanting. 

He has the itch in his fingers to do something. But it’s not as paramount as it was. Perhaps he’ll never be fully satisfied in one place. Up high it’s easier; he can see all, anticipate what’s coming and what’s next. Since the first time the world swung out from under his feet with Glenn’s death, he’s been fighting in some ways, to control all outcomes. 

He cannot, though. And that’s always been his downfall. Staying still always meant losing grip, but now perhaps that’s easing. Perhaps it’s not so bad, at times, to let the world take its course. His mind is not filled with only bad memories, even though it tries to trick him at times that it is. 

He leans out, and watches for the rider, seeing them as a speck in the distance. He wonders where to hang this sword, seeing as now he’s actually decided to start displaying possessions, and that keeps his mind wandering through rooms as the rider makes his way towards the gates. 

All of a sudden, Felix’s mind stumbles, eyes having betrayed him as he suddenly recalls the day when Ashe arrived, both of them in this very position, Ashe riding up like the arrival today, Felix staring out and lost in his thoughts. He huffs out a laugh to himself, shaking his head. He’s less irritated by his fixation on his feelings now he’s had a space to breathe and sort through some of the tangles. Doesn’t mean he is any happier with his tumultuous thoughts, so takes a second before looking back again. 

But the scene hasn’t changed. A rider, who looks very Ashe-like, is still coming towards the house. 

Felix gapes for a moment, but the world keeps turning, and without a second thought he runs from the roof, down the stairs, heart hammering and breath constricting as he slides into the corridor and forces himself to slow to a swift walk. He passes various members of his household in a blur, focused on the doorway, and he picks up his pace into an almost run as he sees it, no longer caring too much for appearances. 

He throws them open just as Ashe’s horse rounds the corner and a stable hand arrives to take it. He marches over as Ashe swings down and goddess, it is beyond good to see him. Something lights up inside and he’s smiling, enough to feel the pull even as nerves rattle through as Ashe turns and sees him. 

His eyes widen, mouth opening in surprise, and he walks forward to meet Felix, bringing with him what is unmistakably, a sword. Felix laughs as he approaches, and shakes his head. 

“You brought my sword,” he says, fond even to his own ears, grin increasing as Ashe blushes. 

“W-well, the warehouse is in the Capital. I was coming this way. It made sense to stop by here first,” he says, collecting himself quickly. 

“First,” Felix repeats, and Ashe smiles, sweetly as he hands it over. 

“Of course. From now on, I’ll stop by first. Even if I’m not sure you’ll be here,” he says. 

Felix takes the sword, his usual urge to unwrap such an item immediately dimmed as he meets Ashe’s gaze. 

“I should imagine I’ll be home more frequently from now on,” he says, almost mumbling, and Ashe tilts his head slightly, question clearly brewing, but Felix steps away. 

“I assume you’ll want a rest, having travelled all this way. Come in,” he says, leading on before he can lose too much of his bravado, still somewhat on edge that Ashe personally delivered his sword, riding in like that ridiculous scene in the play they watched not so long ago. 

Ashe follows, falling into step just behind, as an attendant says there will be tea served in the parlour momentarily. Felix thanks her, then the two settle into the room, the atmosphere and layout so different from just a few weeks ago. 

“You’ve been decorating,” he says, inspecting the swords and few portraits Felix has found in different parts of the house since his return. He nods as Ashe turns back, taking a seat. 

“I was... inspired, shall we say,” he says, and before Ashe can say anything further, their tea arrives. 

“Thank you,” Ashe says to the server, then to Felix who shakes his head. 

“I should be thanking you, for coming all the way here, and well, for the tea. Seeing as this is the blend you gave me,” he says. 

Ashe stares at his cup, as Felix takes a sip, then without warning, places it back down on the table, rocking to saucer as he does. 

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just... I can’t keep doing this,” he says, and Felix gulps a mouthful of scalding tea, shuddering as it burns its way from his mouth down his throat. He doesn’t make a sound though, too caught up in Ashe who wears a determined expression, keeping Felix in his gaze. 

“I’ve tried to show my affection gradually, but I... I just need to tell you. Felix, I—I love you. I’ve been in love with you for years, but I haven’t ever found the moment that feels right enough. I wasn’t sure, still am not sure if you feel the same, but I cannot keep it to myself anymore.” 

Felix knows he needs to step in, needs to say something but he’s so entirely thrown by  _ love _ being given to him that he doesn’t know how to do anything more than stare, eyes too wide, so words tumble from Ashe now he’s begun to let them fly. 

“I liked you even back at school, yet these past few years and spending so much time with you last week have just solidified what I feel. I know you have many things you’re thinking about, and I don’t mean to complicate matters further but—”

“Ashe,” Felix says, managing to unstick his jaw, finally placing down his tea cup as the ability to move seeps through. 

Ashe shuts his mouth with a click and it’s the most adorable thing Felix has ever seen, combined with the fact this man _ loves him _ causes a smile to form before he can help it. 

“Ashe,” he begins again, softer and not without hesitation, for this is the first time he’s ever done this before. 

“I love you too.” 

It is not easy. For love is not, not to Felix, but this confession feels natural and good. So very good to say what has been stirring and building inside for so long. 

“You do?” Ashe says, in what appears to be shock and Felix cannot help the laugh that escapes. 

“I do. I have been thinking, since you spoke to me at the party. And I’m working out where my home is, and what to do in the future which will take time. But... I do,” he says, stumbling over saying those specific words again. 

Ashe however, is still staring. Almost not blinking, just transfixed on Felix. 

“Ashe? Are you listening?” Felix says, a little short as he’s just...  _ confessed, _ of all things, and the recipient zoned out, when Ashe shakes his head. 

“Sorry! I—no, this is wrong, no,” he says, sending Felix entirely array when he gets up and marches to him. 

“What?” he says but Ashe smiles, then lifts his hands up, gently cupping Felix’s cheek, tipping his head up as he does. Felix can feel the roughness of the pads of his fingertips, the way the small taps against his skin send tiny thrums of energy through his whole body.

“You’ve read romance novels Felix, there’s only one thing you do immediately after your feelings are returned,” Ashe teases, and it’s the only warning Felix receives before he’s being kissed. 

He’s been kissed and kissed first before, but it is different when there is so much raw emotion behind it. He knows the movements, the way to respond with soft pressure to Ashe’s chapped lips curving over his own, but it is the roar in his ears, the ignition of so many hours of time spanning aeons coming together in a single action that crashes and shatters the remnants of hesitation and concern. 

He’s living in monumental time as the first kiss parts, beginning another; Felix catching Ashe’s lip between his teeth for a moment, just enough to feel his start of a gasp before the kiss gains fire and thunder, his go-to elements, and it’s a rush of understanding of just how fantastic this can be, will be, learning every twist and turns of mouths as they both lean in. 

His neck strains and he grips Ashe’s shirt and pulls so he stumbles onto Felix’s lap which is perfect, exactly where he needs him to be, and the kiss deepens, Ashe sighing into it, arms around his neck, Felix holding him, keeping him close and subjecting all of this to memory, these sounds and the taste, for all of time. 

They part, almost chasing for another kiss when their eyes catch. Ashe smiles, leaning forward and instead just buries his head in Felix’s neck, placing one kiss there as he curls in. And Felix lifts a hand to his hair, running his fingers through the fine strands, nothing left to be said as they both savor the comfort of closeness. 

* * *

“And that one?” 

Felix secures the blanket for what must be the fourth time in the last hour as Ashe points to somewhere far to the East. He leans forward to see, Ashe on his lap leaning back towards his chest, hand drifting back into warmth. 

“Sirius,” he says and Ashe mouths the name and then just snuggles closer, Felix’s hands tightening around his waist. The closeness soothes that raw edge inside, as if touch and nearness are a balm to something he doesn’t know is ravaged. A scar he may not heal, but has found a way to alleviate the aftermath, even if it’s been with him for so many years. 

“Is this what you want to do all night? Ask me to name stars for you?” he says, squeezing Ashe’s sides, who yelps, twisting to glare as Felix grins back. 

“I asked you to show me your favourite place, this is your plan,” he accuses and Felix shakes his head. 

“Hardly. I’m not here for your amusement,” he says and Ashe turns, moving out of his lap to sit before him, the cold air hitting his back as the blanket moves, only for a moment though, as Ashe sweeps it in place, leaning forward to they are almost nose to nose, Felix’s head tipping upwards on instinct. 

Ashe’s mouth curves upwards and Felix grimaces. He’s good at this, so very good at enticing him already, and it’s been mere hours. But he doesn’t withhold the kiss, sinks in deep to Felix as their mouths slide in the same rhythm, more comfort than flare in this hour and place. 

“You’ll stay?” Felix blurts out suddenly, meaning to tack on ‘for the night’ but it becomes open-ended. 

Ashe sits back on his heels, eyes steady, unconcerned. “I can stay the week, before I have duties. If you’ll have me for that long,” he says with a chuckle, and Felix nods stiffly, words not right for what he’s feeling. 

“And with you, if that’s what you’re asking, then that’s what I want. I love you. I want this to be as much as it can, Felix. Even if we aren’t physically close often,” he says, and Felix moves forward, gripping Ashe’s hands. 

Ashe stills, looking confused, but says nothing as Felix scrambles mentally for the right words to convey what he needs to. 

“I want to be with you. And to decide my own future, my own life. I’ll do what I can to make sure we’re close, whenever we can be,” he settles on, and Ashe nods, before turning once more, settling onto Felix’s lap as if it’s now his favourite place, which Felix privately hopes it is. 

“Petra was telling me about Brigid. Have you ever seen the ocean? The sea sounds amazing,” he says, leaning back into Felix, who kisses his temple. 

“Can’t say I’m a fan of a huge body of deep water,” he says, and Ashe sighs, Felix moving with it. 

“I don’t know, sounds romantic,” he says, and Felix rolls his eyes. 

“You read too many pirate romance books,” he mutters, and Ashe laughs so hard he shakes against him. 

But Felix already commits himself to taking Ashe to Brigid. At some point, hopefully not too far away, when it’s all more secure in his own head and heart, when he has a direction fixed with more tentative foundations. When he can give his full focus to a vacation or surviving some sort of sea adventure. 

The future gaps, possibilities frightening in their openness. Yet his future with Ashe, he is certain of. There will be the bright and the dark, like there is in most things, but he knows without questions they are a combined force to be reckoned with against the bad which may come. 

So he holds Ashe close and revels in their first night as together like this as the moon rises higher. A close of one day, and the prelude to a future.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. 
> 
> My beta has already requested a sequel, so...this universe will return. 
> 
> But for now, it's been amazing, thank you again!

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 2 will be up very soon! 
> 
> In the meantime please come yell at me about Ashelix on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/)


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